Graveyard Dirt & Salt
by SpyVsTailor
Summary: A soldier comes across two half-dead men in the middle of the woods and suddenly finds himself in the middle of a war he didn't know was being waged just outside his front door. In the midst of it a tale that contains pretty white river flowers and a lost little girl. Rated for language and perhaps more. Set after the Dixon Brothers tangle with the Governor.
1. Le Petit Cabri

**Well, here's the first chapter of my Walking Dead fic. It's definitely Daryl/Carol kids, so don't worry that the first chapter is from the POV of an original character, I wanted to get an outside view of things. Trying new things here, people. Hang tight, because there will most definitely be good stuff coming.  
**

**That being said, I think of fanfiction as pure entertainment so everybody just relax. If this were serious stuff, my grammar would be a thousand times better and I'd be getting paid.  
**

**Also, I never write original characters for fanfictions, so...I'm sorry if he's terrible. I just thought I'd try something new. Obviously, I'm not Cajun, so forgive any errors I made in researching the actual Cajun dialect. I did my very best to honour the culture (it's a fascinating one). The key to understanding some of the Cajun phrases is at the bottom of the page for those who care.  
**

* * *

**Chapter One: Le Petit Cabri**

****The Lieutenant****

The world was a shitty place before the dead started walking around like they owned the joint.

Seemed everywhere a man went there was a beaten, broken creature who everyone avoided because they made them uncomfortably aware of how imperfect the world was, and that was still before the world had gone down the drainpipe.

Now it was easier to identify the pariah's, they drooled, groaned and dragged their sorry asses over hills and down valleys just to get at their next meal.

Hell, he'd even seen a couple of them bastards trying to slog their way through the Louisiana bayou back home. The uggies had no sense of how to do things the easy way, because they had no sense left.

That was okay by him. It made carrying out his orders easier.

His commanding officers had told them 'shoot to kill', take down every last one of them, and that was what he planned on doing.

One by one his squad had left him, either picked off by a lucky uggie or just plain run off in the night.

Heading home, he assumed. And to be honest, the Lieutenant didn't blame them. The more they patrolled from small town to small town, the more he realized there was no one left alive. The orders over the radio had stopped coming nearly nine months ago, the last word out of the old field radio he carried on his back had been to keep clear of the major cities, and then the damned thing went dead.

Hell, until a few months ago, he had assumed he was the only _couyon_ left alive on earth.

Didn't matter. Everything he left back home in Basile, Louisiana was inanimate and cold, nothing that could warm him on dark nights anyhow.

It was on one of his patrols, moving across the great state of Georgia, that he came upon a high, grey brick wall, beyond that towered an old looking church of some sort and some equally dated looking buildings surrounding it.

When he had scaled the wall, to perch high and get his bearings, he was surprised to find a handful of nuns working in a garden below. At the time they didn't notice him as he perched on their wall. They seemed too intent on gathering the bounties of their vegetable garden.

With his rifle shouldered, he had watched them at work, amazed to find life so deep in the woods.

Of course, surrounded by the high wall and the thick forest, he shouldn't have been so surprised at the time.

He remembered looking around the inside of the walled in area for guards.

All the groups he had come across in his journeys had armed men and women to act as lookouts. The sisters inside the wall had none of this, they merely worked hard and fast, plucking fruits and vegetables from the plants and dropping them in wicker baskets.

That had all been a little less than seven months ago, if his digital watch still served him correctly.

Now he was hunting, not just taking out uggies – as was and would remain to be his orders – but he was stalking a wild turkey through the woods. He had been on the trail of the little bastard for nearly a month now, keeping a keen eye out for its droppings, looking for a sign of the little monster, just because a little girl asked for turkey.

Inside the convent – as he had learned it was – was only ten other people, the old Mother Superior whom he had taken to calling Old Missy, a wee little thing of a girl who became Little Missy, seven nuns and a priest. The rest, they had said, went down the hill into a small, nearby town to help out once the trouble broke and they never came back.

Those that remained needed the protein a vegetable couldn't provide and not a single one of them knew how to use a gun. Which left him hunting daily for meat.

How they all managed to make it through the hell that was happening all across the country, he couldn't say. Luck, probably, and the fact that the convent was so far removed from civilization that no one thought to venture in their direction.

He was probably the biggest _couyon_ he ever knew taking on the sole responsibility of caring for those in the convent, but he was also a protector by nature and couldn't just walk away. Not from a group of Christ's own or a _pischouette_ like Little Missy, especially when she turned those big brown eyes of hers upon him and asked if they could have a wild turkey for Sunday dinner.

That had been eight Sunday's ago.

The turkey turned out to be an elusive, ugly bastard.

Crawling slowly over a fallen tree, the Lieutenant spied a creature moving, crashing through the brush and brought himself to a halt. By the jerking movements, the irrational direction the creature was stumbling, he assumed it was just another uggie and raised his rifle to his shoulder, eyeing the thing through the high powered scope.

He had never seen an uggie dragging the carcass of another, so he lowered the weapon and made his move closer to what he assumed was a living, breathing human being.

A few feet from it he began to smell the blood and the gunpowder, as the man standing began to slow his exodus from wherever the hell he came from. His legs were shaking, trembling like the legs of a newborn fawn, the larger man he was hauling around dropped from his grip, falling to the ground with a thud. The one standing fell to his knees right after, collapsing in exhaustion.

But he wasn't going down without a fight, as he gripped his unloaded crossbow in his hands and turned on the Lieutenant who was emerging from the underbrush, heading for them.

Predator-like blue eyes narrowed at him, but they were glassy from blood loss.

As though on instinct, the man pulled the trigger of his crossbow, but it clicked, empty, the string not even drawn into place.

Panting, the man dropped his weapon and weakly reached for something at his hip, finding it barren, he growled.

"Fuck you," he muttered in a thick Georgian accent, dropping face first onto the forest floor.

Glancing around to ensure that the man wasn't yelling obscenities at a creeping uggie, the Lieutenant found the forest empty and furrowed his brow a little, knowing the obscenity was for him, before dropping to one knee to survey the damage done to the two men. He looked for bite marks or anything that looked ominous, but came up with only weapon wounds.

The bigger one, the _grande beede_ as the Lieutenant knew he was going to take to calling him, had one hand and a mean look on his face, but his heart was still weakly pumping blood as his pulse caressed the Lieutenant's fingertips every time it beat.

The littler one, the _petit cabri_, with his goat-like scruff and wolf-like eyes, was alive as well, his pulse stronger, but still dangerously sluggish in his artery.

Both men looked like they had fought the devil all the way through hell and came out running on the other side, there were bruises and welts and cuts to both of them that looked both defensive and accidental, but the blood would attract the uggies and the Lieutenant knew he had to find some way to get them out of the woods to safety.

Not that he trusted them, but he was a good man and wouldn't just leave them. If he left men to their deaths in the forest, it made him no better than a murderer and he wasn't about to let his morals go down with the rest of society.

Taking his heavy combat knife, he hacked at two sturdy trees the size of his arm and knocking them down, tied them together.

It took him a good half an hour to make a tripod stable enough to stack the two men onto, then another half an hour of dragging them through the woods to get back to the trail that lead back to the convent's back gate.

Father O'Rourke greeted him at the gate with the pistol the Lieutenant had given him and a quiet, worried look on his face. He was a middle aged man, shockingly boisterous for a preacherman, but he had a warmth in his blue eyes that reminded the Lieutenant that the man did actually care for people, just in his own way.

"Who are these men?" He asked, opening the gate.

"I think they're selling door-to-door insurance," the Lieutenant teased, tearing up the once lush green lawn of the convent with his dragging load. The winter had browned it, turned it into a dead mess of untrimmed straw-like scruff and the Spring was only just beginning, so he was sure it wouldn't matter much anymore anyways. The new growth would clear up his drag marks.

Locking the gate back up, the Father reached down and shouldered the little one, taking a burden off of the Lieutenant's own hands.

He nodded his thanks and carried on faster now that he only had one man on his tripod, heading for the building that housed the convent's infirmary and care area for the older nuns.

Toeing open the door's latch with his combat boot, the Lieutenant pushed open the door and knelt to shoulder the _grande beede_ onto his back, just as Sister Mary Claire, the young nursing nun hurried out from her backroom at the sound.

She was a nervous sort of woman, high strung, always looking around with big green eyes at the slightest sound. If the Lieutenant was a betting man, he'd say she saw something, something that made her a little more aware of the situation than the others, but if she did, she never said a word about it.

"What happened?" She demanded. "Who are these men?"

Not wanting to repeat himself ten times over, the Lieutenant dropped the heavy man on a cot and stepped back, hoping he could get away with ignoring her inquiry.

Buzzing around the two men, Sister Mary Claire left the Lieutenant and Father O'Rourke to eye each other in an out of the way corner. A while back, the Lieutenant had told Father O'Rourke about the state of humanity outside the walls of the convent. He regretted it, but felt the man needed to know. The only people who knew how badly the world was outside the walls were the Father, Mother Superior, Little Missy and the Lieutenant.

He wished the little one didn't know, but she had arrived at the gate a couple of months after him, dirty and hungry, blood soaking her little dress and hair.

She never said a word about what happened to anyone, she never spoke much at all, except to chirp out commands to him like a little princess.

He forgave her; the girl was in a whole new world and unable to comprehend. Besides, he couldn't help but adore her; she had a draw that pulled people in. All of the sisters and even Father O'Rourke spoiled her a little more than they should have, but with what she had been through they wanted some form of healing for her and if doing her bidding pleased the little one, who were they to argue.

It wasn't like she demanded the world.

Remembering the wee boo, he cursed softly. The wild turkey got to live one more day in the woods, but after that there would be a feast.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

By the time Sister Mary Claire finished up, the Lieutenant and Father O'Rourke had both fallen asleep propped up in chairs against the wall.

"They're in bad shape," she said softly, washing her bloody hands. "Looks like they fought the good fight, but the big one has a bullet wound to his shoulder that won't stop bleeding and the little one has a sprained wrist and several deep cuts to his arms. We have antibiotics to prevent infection, but they could both do with some blood and without knowing their blood types…"

"Will they live?" Father O'Rourke cut to the chase.

"If I can get the big man's shoulder to stop bleeding, find the source, then he might make it, I have more hope for the little one, but…they need rest before I can tell for sure."

The Lieutenant nodded, moving across the room to the beds.

Tearing a sheet off an empty cot on his way by, he started tearing strips off and began to tie the men to the cots.

"What are you doing?" Sister Mary Claire demanded.

"Taking precautions." He explained. "With a house full of hens, I don't want these boys to get any ideas."

He halted for a second when he went to tie the _grande beede's_ wrist on his right hand, before shrugging. Wasn't much he could do with a stump anyways.

Straightening up once the men were secure, he eyed the Father and Sister both, before nodding. "Padre, watch the men, don't untie them for anything, Sister you watch yourself around them, yeah?"

The two nodded.

"_Mais_, I'm going to see if I can catch something for dinner before the sun dies," he muttered, marching back out into the world full of the walking dead.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Couyon** - Silly or foolish person. Stupid, idiotic.

**Pischouette** - Runt, little person (feminine form).

**Grande Beede** - Big clumsy man.

**Petit Cabri** - Tiny goat.

**Mais** - Well. Used at the beginning of a sentence usually. Eg: 'mais, might as well get to work'.


	2. Un Transport

**MarionArnold - Thank you for your kind review. You know for as much as everybody else seems to hate Merle, I can't bring myself to completely loathe the man. I think there's a small, wee, tiny amount of decency in him that maybe he could dig out.  
**

**littleshell - Thanks. I hope that was a good 'interesting' and not the bad kind. ^_^  
**

**Amanda - Thank you for your review. I hope this update is soon enough for you.  
**

**NoSpillBlood - If you say it's great I'll believe you. Cajun's are delightful people. Fascinating culture, really.  
**

**Violeta27 - Who are you? Where do I know you from? Ehe. Thanks for the review. I was quite nervous about this one. Love.  
**

**I wasn't going to update so soon, but since you've all been very kind in reviewing, here's a quick update.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Un Transport**

****The Lieutenant**  
**

Dinner was quiet.

It usually was.

But tonight everyone seemed on edge.

Maybe the sisters were a lot more attuned to what was going on outside their walls then he assumed.

At his side Little Missy chewed thoughtfully on the rabbit he had caught in the dying rays of the sun, eating it like a prim little lady, swallowing before speaking.

"I bet it's going to rain tomorrow." She chirped softly.

Around the table the nuns all eyed her quietly.

Little Missy blinked. "It smells like rain."

Nudging her with his elbow gently, the Lieutenant tapped on the edge of her plate with his fork, telling her to stop talking and eat. He wasn't good with kids, but he did know the wee boo was getting thinner by the day and he didn't like the looks of the dark circles under her eyes.

She picked at her food, taking another bite.

He supposed it was cold to be so commanding with her, the girl must have been through hell, but he couldn't bring himself to dote on her entirely like Father O'Rourke or Old Missy would. He wasn't there to be their friend, he was there to keep them safe. The last good of humanity was his to protect and he'd do it until his dying breath.

Downing the last of his meal, he finished his water and stood up, heading for the infirmary to relieve Father O'Rourke of watch over the men, so that the good padre could get his own meal down his gullet.

Passing Sister Joan on the wall, armed with a rifle, he nodded at her and she returned it quietly.

The sisters had protested to carrying weapons, the best he could get was for them to at least hold one while on watch, patrolling the high wall for the uggies.

There had only been a few sightings, nothing traumatic yet, but it didn't mean he was going to let them be as blissfully oblivious to uggies as they had been when he arrived.

At least they saw the walking dead as abominations against God and had no hesitation to fire on them. That was one thing that worked out fine for everyone. If they could convince themselves that the uggies were unholy, then they had no issue taking them out. What he wasn't comfortable with, was Father O'Rourke's insistence on going out after every kill to give the uggie it's last rites. But the man was a bull when it came to things like that. So, the Lieutenant would find himself watching the holy man's six while he administered a small prayer for the creature's soul.

That didn't make the sister's crackerjack shots with a rifle. Half of them didn't even hold the gun properly even after all his instructing, but Sister Joan was one of the better ones, which was why he rotated it so that she took night watch for the first half, when the night was darker.

It was getting colder out the past few weeks. It was cold, cold. And the Lieutenant didn't like it. He had thought spring had finally arrived, that the ground was warming enough that things would sprout. If it snowed again, he would lose his mind. He barely survived the winter.

Georgia was warm, sure, but he was from the devil's armpit in Louisiana and as such he ran cold anywhere North of the bayou and while his current position in Georgia wasn't much further north, it was still north enough. Cold was something foreign to him and he didn't much care for it. It seemed unnatural.

Stepping into the warm infirmary, he jerked his thumb at the door, letting Father O'Rourke know he was being tagged out.

The padre stood, closed his bible and hurried out eager to get some food into him, leaving the Lieutenant alone with the two strange men.

Easing onto a chair, he propped it up on the back two legs and leaned against the wall, pulling out his own ragged book from one of his many flak-jacket pockets to read over the dim light of the candle.

He didn't usually read, but being that he was always _un transport_, he felt reading calmed him enough to focus on remaining still. He tried cleaning his weapons while 'at rest' but he found it just made him edgier.

Putting his boots up on the bed nearest him that contained the _petit cabri_, the Lieutenant idly read about a young man named Pi stranded in a lifeboat. He could honestly give a good goddamned about the man, but that fucking tiger was damned interesting.

"Merle," the _petit cabri_ mumbled.

Startled, the Lieutenant dropped his feet onto the floor and leaned over the man.

There was no movement, nor any further sounds from him and after a cautious few minutes, the Lieutenant quirked a brow and put his boots back up on the bed, returning to his book. Still, his eyes kept wandering to the smaller fellow on the cot at his side.

He was one of those types of men whose age was hard to pin down, anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five he'd wager. But it was a wide span. He looked tough as nails though, arms built for carrying the weight of that crossbow of his. Arms built for fighting, for physically whooping ass with those scarred fists of his.

The Lieutenant was sure that had the apocalypse never come, had the man been cleaner and shaven, he would have thought him to be one of those pretty boy types. But the scars evident on the man's chest and arms, the old scars, were older than the end of the world. The man probably wasn't any sort of model or actor or anything like that. He was probably just some backwoods Georgian hick who had more balls than brains.

Glancing across the _petit cabri_, he eyed the other man.

There was a nice story written in the lines and scars of the other man's face as well. The broken nose, the perpetual sneer that twisted his upper lip, the general mean look of the man, he looked like an ex-football fool or some kind of psychotic marine hell bent on setting the world on fire. Hell, both men had that look, the type of look that meant they'd survive the end of the world if only to kick Satan in the balls when he came to claim paradise.

The looks of the two men both comforted and concerned the Lieutenant. If and when they woke, if they came in peace there would be two more helpful hands to help him protect the sisters, if they came with blood and savagery on their minds, they would be a force to have to put down.

The thought came to him suddenly, that maybe he should have left well enough alone. That maybe these two men would resent the help.

He wasn't sure if it was just him eyeing the two men, or if it was a particular flare of the candlelight that suddenly struck them, but he noticed a resemblance then in the shape of the two men's faces, around the jaws and ears, and came to the conclusion that they could very well be related. Brothers, maybe. But with the smaller man being so hard to pin an age on, they could have been father and son for all he knew.

No, he'd say brothers. There was something in his gut that told him 'brothers' was the right answer.

"Carol," the little one mumbled suddenly. His voice so soft and broken, that the Lieutenant nearly missed it.

Taking a look at the _petit cabri's_ clenched hands the Lieutenant struggled to find evidence that he was married. No ring, not even a tan line.

Carol was a sister, maybe?

Whoever she was, she was dead and gone. Nothing survived outside the walls of the convent for long.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

The Lieutenant stayed close to the convent for the next couple of days. Worried that when the men came around they'd hulk out and tear the place apart, the women with it and he'd come back to a massacre scene.

So he sat himself down outside in the cold spring air, trying to force himself to adjust to it, and cleaned weapons. There weren't many, but the one's he scrounged out of farmhouses down the hill and across the highway were enough for them. He thanked God that every good farmer in Georgia was packing heat, otherwise he would have run out of .22 ammo months ago. His M40A1 sat in the spartan room the sisters had given him, useless. Marie had run out of .308 ammo months back and he was now using some hick's .22 rifle with his good scope duct taped to it. It was the best he could do.

Shit Creek was now a very real place and it was a very real possibility that he could find himself up it one day without that ordnance.

Out of fondness for the shitty .22 he had named her like he had named his issued rifle, but it wasn't a graceful Marie or even Salt (like his combat knife), no the .22 got the name Graveyard Dirt, his last defense against the bad _gris-gris_ that was floating around the world currently. His _Mamere_ would have approved.

Finishing his work, he hauled his ass towards the infirmary, worried about Sister Mary Claire alone with the men while Father O'Rourke gave morning mass to the others.

If it were up to the Lieutenant he'd have abolished morning mass out of necessity to more important things, but Father O'Rourke had made one thing clear to him upon joining them, God would always come before man's needs on the hallowed ground and while the Lieutenant respected that, he also wished that the Father would have at least cut back on the religious masses. They had one every morning during peak daylight hours.

Inside the infirmary, Sister Mary Claire was giving the bigger man a sponge bath, gently holding his stump arm and wiping the grime off it.

She glanced over her shoulder nervously at his approach.

"They looked like they hadn't had a good bath in months," she explained softly.

"Are you trying to give me a hint?" He teased.

She smiled. "Maybe a little."

"_Oh ye yi_," he replied, playfully scolding her. "_Possede_."

Still when the laughter died, he gave himself a covert sniff, just to be sure he didn't offend that badly. End of the world didn't breed time to bath often, but he tried to keep his smell respectable for the ladies.

"The little one's got scars," she went on gently, "all over his body."

"Don't we all?" He asked, turning his eyes on the _petit cabri_ on the cot. Carefully, he moved to cover the man up, not so sure he'd want his scars on display if he had as many as the little one had.

The Lieutenant and everyone kept referring to the man as 'little' he wasn't small by any means, but next to the other one, he was little. Then again, if they were going by height, the larger one was smaller than the Lieutenant, but in all fairness to the _grande beede_, the Lieutenant was six-four and towered over a lot of men.

Studying the two men carefully, the Lieutenant noted that the larger one wasn't – in fact – taller than the smaller one. They both looked about equal in height. The _grande beede_, just seemed bigger all around. Maybe it was just how he was.

"You be careful wiping them down, yeah?" He ordered. "They come to life and get you in a choke hold, that could be it for you, cher. I'll bring you some clean clothes for them in a bit."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

He was in front of the church, sitting on the steps eyeing the convent grounds, watching Sister Gertrude as she talked to one of her many beloved pet cats. The elderly sister was the oldest one among them, still spry as ever, but he often worried about her. She'd get blue every time one of her damned cats took off over the wall and never returned.

It was happening more and more recently and as much as he tried to tell her to keep them indoors, she insisted they run free 'as God intended'.

Sister Mary Claire high-tailing it out of the infirmary, shouting her fool head off had him jumping to his feet.

Seemed someone finally came to.

Showtime or showdown, he wasn't sure, but he'd finally get to figuring some things out.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Un Transport** - Unable to sit still. Restless.

**Gris-Gris** - A spell or charm (usually bad) placed upon someone.

**Mamere** - Grandmother

**Possede** - A bad, mischievous person, often a kid (literally means possessed).


	3. Mal Pris

**Violeta27 - It's funny you mentioned the new names for the walkers. I have the Lieutenant calling them uggies, because as we learned on the show different groups and areas breeds different names for the walking dead. I thought uggies might be a Cajun thing or maybe just a Lieutenant thing.  
**

**MarionArnold - You have some of the best observations. I enjoy them. No, the combat knife isn't named after Salt (the character) it's an old country charm to use salt against bad spells or spirits. The Lieutenant's .22 rifle and combat knife are both named after ingredients used for protection against bad 'gris-gris'. His M40A1 sniper rifle is actually named after the Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau (for those who care to know).  
**

**Buckismith - Well, thank you for your review. Good to know it's not terrible. ^_^  
**

**This is the last chapter from that damned original character's pov for a while, so rejoice! (Because no one likes original characters).  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Mal Pris**

****The Lieutenant**  
**

"You'd best let me loose!"

He was greeted with a gruff command the instant he walked in through the door of the infirmary.

In the bed the _petit cabri_ was struggling to sit up, fighting his bonds.

Halting at the side of the bed, the Lieutenant placed his right hand on his hip, his left holding the strap of his rifle. He watched the man struggle with the ties around his wrists and ankles for a moment in shock. He honestly wasn't expecting him to be so lively so fast.

"You're going to undo all the work Sister Mary Claire spent on your wrist, _Texian_." The Lieutenant greeted calmly.

The man puffed and panted like a trapped animal, eyeing the Lieutenant with a pair of the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen aimed at him. The man was like a wolf, sizing up his prey, he was pacing back and forth without ever leaving the bed.

"Am I back in Woodbury?" He finally asked in a calmer rasp.

"Naw," the Lieutenant replied, filing the name away for interrogation purposes later.

"Then let me loose." He spat.

"I untie you, you best behave, yeah?"

The man took in the Lieutenant's gun, then the sisters who had gathered behind him, before nodding. "Yeah."

At least the _petit cabri_ wasn't stupid.

"Alright, hold still."

He turned to Father O'Rourke who eyed the man in the cot warily and touched the padre's rifle calmly, gripping the barrel.

"Don't hesitate, padre." The Lieutenant ordered.

The man frowned, but agreed with a nod of his head.

Shouldering his slipping gun, the Lieutenant approached the man, carefully unstrapping first his legs, then his arms.

The man glowered white hot fire at him, but said nothing.

"I need to go." He said.

"You will. I can't stop you." The Lieutenant pointed out, he glanced over at the _grande beede_. "That Merle?"

"Yeah." The man replied, sitting up enough to gather himself together.

"You asked for him the other night."

This seemed to piss the _petit cabri_ off a little for some odd reason and his face darkened. "So?" He snarled.

After a moment, as he struggled to get his boots on with his bad arm, the man calmed enough to ask. "He going to be okay?"

"Yeah. I think. Cut it pretty close though."

"Merle's had worse," the man muttered, climbing to his feet and snatching up the clean shirt the Lieutenant had left on the chair at the side of his bed to pull it on angrily.

Throughout the entire moment of dressing, the Lieutenant noticed that the _petit cabri_ didn't once turn his back on anyone present, he would turn to the side, but there was always one eye kept on the group who stood between him and the door.

Tugging the shirt down, the Lieutenant saw the _petit cabri_ sway from the movement, but knew the man wouldn't back down from his escape now. That would be a sign of weakness.

"What's your name?" The Lieutenant asked.

"What's it to you? Ain't going to be around long enough for you to remember it." The man growled, looking around his cot for something. "Where's my crossbow?"

"You think I'd be stupid enough to let you have it while inside our walls?" The Lieutenant demanded. "You'll get it at the gate."

"Whatever," the man replied, making his way towards the door, holding the stitched wound on his side with his good hand.

"You just going to leave Merle, _Texian_?" The Lieutenant inquired, following the man out of the infirmary.

"Got more important things on my mind right now," the man said, squinting at the sun. "Ain't like a bunch a nuns are gonna kill him."

It took the Lieutenant all of a minute to realize the man was getting his bearings, finding the time and place by his surroundings as they just stood there for a moment.

"Who said we want him here?" The Lieutenant inquired.

"Then kick his ass out when he comes to," the man muttered. "Merle can handle himself."

They both wandered in the direction of the front gate, where Sister Mary Monica was at her post, she watched them approach quietly, with her big, dark eyes, at her side rested the man's weapon.

He snatched it up and eyed it.

There were no bolts left for it, but he didn't say anything about that.

"You got anything to defend yourself with out there?" The Lieutenant asked as Sister Mary Monica unlocked the gate.

"Nope." The man replied casually, stepping out of the safety of the walls into the world beyond.

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the man's back. He could barely hold himself up, had just woken from a three day coma, but he was determined to go without a weapon.

He sighed heavily and turned to the sister. "I'll be back. Keep to the patrol schedule. Anything happens you get the padre, yeah?"

She nodded.

Catching up with the man, the Lieutenant walked beside him, eyeing him as they strode down the road.

"The highway down here?" The man asked, pointing in the direction they were headed.

"Eventually."

They walked on in silence for the longest time, the only sound was the crunching of the gravel on the road beneath their boots.

"What do you want?" The man asked finally.

"Just making sure you get where you're going in one piece."

"Yeah, well, you'd be better off back there. If Merle wakes up, he's gonna be pissed that you trussed him up like that." The man turned to eye him quietly. "He ain't as zen as me."

"He's tied up pretty tightly, 'cept for that _moochon_ of his."

"I don't need your help," the man stated firmly.

"I don't doubt that, but you have me curious about you."

The man looked at him with a sneer.

"Back down, _capon_, it ain't that kind of curiosity."

They walked in silence, cutting into the woods once they crossed the main highway. The man seemed to have his bearings better now that they hit that strip of blacktop. As though he mapped the area before, or maybe just knew the woods once he reached the area beyond the asphalt. It was amusing to him, because the Lieutenant knew the woods to the south of the highway in the same way, he was completely lost beyond it though.

As injured as he was, the _petit cabri_ made pretty good time, he hadn't eaten properly other than the few spoonfuls of broth Sister Mary Claire had worked down his gullet, but he seemed okay.

"You realize that when we get where I'm going, my people are going to tie you up?" The man demanded.

"Naw, they won't. Not when they see me with you."

"Don't be so sure of that."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

They pushed through the edge of the forest and suddenly there she was tucked away like a nymph among the flowers.

The Lieutenant eyed the prison with amazement. He had never been this far North from the convent; he hadn't even realized that a place like the prison was around anywhere near.

"Give me your knife," the _petit cabri_ ordered, holding out his hand, eyes on the prison and the uggies scattered about the grounds.

Without thinking whether he'd turn on him with it, the Lieutenant handed it over and watched as the man hustled over to the open gate, taking out a few uggies with ease. The man was an artist when it came to taking the rotted things down.

The Lieutenant used his rifle butt on a couple others, it wasn't as quick as a knife, having to bash their faces into pulp, but it did the job.

Following the man as he tore into the prison yard, the Lieutenant slowed as they approached the second gate into the cellblocks. It too was wide open.

By the looks of things the prison was overrun with uggies, but that wasn't all that went down. Tire tracks tearing up the brown grass of the prison yard near the first gate and shell casings from a variety of rifles that littered the ground said something definitely went down. He assumed the gunfight was what drew so many uggies to one location. Like a light in the darkness to them...or a dinner bell to hungry cattle.

The _petit cabri_ tore off through the second gate, efficiently taking out uggies that crossed his path, with the Lieutenant hot on his heels. They both stopped short as the sight of a mass of uggies who were literally pouring out from the open doors of the prison cellblock.

"There's too many," the Lieutenant warned. "Look, whoever you had stashed away here, they're gone…there's no way anyone would be alive with this many uggies around. By the looks of them tracks they probably beat cheeks out of here."

There was a moment when the Lieutenant thought he was being helpful with his words, that they were getting through to the man, but as soon as the _petit cabri_ turned, he regretted ever uttering them.

"I didn't ask you to come with me!" He growled, fists clenching at his sides. "Get the hell out of here if you want!"

The uggies were on their scent now, heading for them briskly and the Lieutenant took a step back, the man following him in retreat.

They headed for the open gate, dashing through in time to roll it closed. Using a chain, the Lieutenant wound it around the bar of the gate and the post of the fence, but without a lock it would only give them a few minutes at best.

The _petit cabri_ kicked the hell out of the fence in anger, growling in rage at the creatures inside who moaned for their flesh. Taking the combat knife, he then proceeded to shove it through the holes in the fence, killing as many of the creatures as he could. They collapsed right in front of the fence, making it hard for the others to get at the gate to open it. The man didn't stop until he couldn't reach anymore, he just killed and killed, the thick blackened blood and gunk coating his arm and the knife. Seemed like the _petit cabri_ had a bit of an anger problem.

The Lieutenant for his part watched the man's six as he got his rage out. It didn't matter to him, less uggies for him to deal with later.

"Fuck!" The man shouted in frustration, finally dropping his raised arm. He took a look at the tire tracks that lead out of the prison gates. "They wouldn't have gone far," he muttered. "I've been out…two, three days maybe…" he followed the tracks, the Lieutenant on his heels. Stopping once the muddy road became highway asphalt, the man growled and kicked the hell out of a nearby broken down prison van.

"Easy, _Texian_, you're gonna break your foot."

The man twisted his mouth as though trying to contain emotions he couldn't let loose and tucked the knife into his belt.

"I can pick up the trail," he assured himself. "I need Merle." As though that made everything better, the man calmly began back the way they came.

The Lieutenant hesitated for a moment, before trailing after the man.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

"Daryl Dixon," he said as they crested the hill that the convent perched on.

They had been walking for nearly an hour in silence, before he spoke.

The Lieutenant nodded. "Carol," he returned softly, just to see the man's reaction.

Daryl's footsteps faltered ever so and the man's brow fell, lowering over his cold, blue-grey eyes, at his side his hand clenched and released just as fast. "What?"

"I said they call me Lieutenant." He stated clearly, mocking the man's thick Georgian accent poorly, filing away the man's reaction to the name 'Carol' for a later inquiry. He was deeply curious about this Carol now.

Daryl Dixon turned those sharp blue eyes of his in the Lieutenant's direction. He looked long and hard at him, before sniffing. "Don't have a name or what?"

"Lafayette Vancoughnett the Fourth," he returned softly, eyeing the encroaching darkness that was beginning to creep upon them.

"Jesus," the man grunted. "Your parents hate you or something?"

"This coming from a man named Daryl," he shot back.

Daryl scowled darkly, getting defensive. "What's wrong with Daryl?"

"Nothing, what's wrong with Lafayette?"

"Other than the fact it's got the word 'fay' in it? Nothing I guess," Daryl stated, darting through the gate as soon as the sister opened it.

The Lieutenant paused at the gate, staring after the man, before shrugging in agreement. It was a rather goofy name, even for a Cajun boy, but still the backwoods hick didn't have to point it out so blatantly.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

"Merle! Hey, Merle, get your lazy ass up!" Daryl exclaimed, bursting into the infirmary to prod at his brother's foot with his good arm. "Come on, we gotta get ourselves back on track!"

The _grande beede_ didn't budge an inch.

Daryl slapped his face, nothing.

"Fine, whatever, I'll do it myself. Don't need your lazy ass anyways." Daryl growled, storming out the door. "Always dragging me down!"

The Lieutenant followed him quietly across the lawn of the convent.

"You attached to my ass or something, _Fay_?" The man snarled, turning on him.

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the man. "I'm not going to just let you wander around my convent unguarded."

"Man, fuck you! I ain't got no interest in a bunch of nuns! Just leave me be!" He ordered.

Letting the man storm off to a safe distance, the Lieutenant still kept close to him, sitting far enough away that the man had his space, but still close enough to intervene if he caused any trouble.

Sitting on the ground under the magnolia tree in the convent yard, the Lieutenant watched as Daryl Dixon chewed on his thumbnail for a bit, gathering his thoughts by the looks of it, before he stood up, calmer and headed towards him.

"I'm going to borrow your knife, make myself some new bolts." He commanded, before heading for the gate. "Then I'll head out."

"Maybe you should eat something first," the Lieutenant pointed out, following him again.

"Maybe you should mind your own business!" Daryl snarled. "Go back to tending your nuns!"

Tsking at his behaviour – which amused him more than anything – the Lieutenant nodded to Sister Mary Monica to open the back gate for the man to storm out of, watching him go with a tiny smirk.

"Crazy _couyon_…" he muttered, heading for the infirmary to check in on the other redneck. "See if I care if you get your fool head gnawed on..."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

Three hours later, Daryl came back, storming through the gate just as pissed off as when he left, his hand clutching a bundle of sticks for making some bolts.

He marched over to the steps of the church and began whittling the bark off them, ignoring everyone who eyed him warily.

The Lieutenant sighed heavily, pushing up from where he sat on the wall and hopping down to approach the man.

"You regrouping?" He asked, easing onto the steps beside the man.

"Naw, I'm heading back to the prison first thing come morning." He grunted, before adding a soft, "ain't making the same mistake twice," under his breath. "Need to get reloaded, first. You got any feathers around here?"

"Feathers?"

The man jerked the stick in his hand.

"Ah, for your bolts, naw, but tomorrow I'll have some turkey feathers for you."

Daryl squinted at Sister Mary Monica as she was relieved from her post by Sister Mary Agnes. "That so?"

"Sure. I'm on his ass now, won't be long."

The two fell silent, the Lieutenant stretching his legs out in front of them on the steps. "How many in your group?" He asked conversationally.

"Ain't none of your business!" Daryl snapped.

Holding up his hands, the Lieutenant backed off the subject.

The Old Missy came up behind them then, quiet as a little mouse and held a plate of food between them, nudging Daryl.

"You should eat something," she said in that high-born southern drawl of hers. "My girls say you haven't eaten yet."

Daryl studied the plate of what looked like last night's stew, then the woman, before nodding once and taking the offered plate.

The Mother Superior sat down on the other side of Daryl, watching him as he continued to strike bark off the stick with deft motions of his arm.

She was a middle aged woman, forty or forty-five by the Lieutenant's figuring, but had a soft look in her indecipherable greenish blue eyes that reminded the Lieutenant of a woman he once knew back home. He wasn't sure why he took to calling her Old Missy when she wasn't much older than him, he supposed it was just because she carried herself with more grace and sense than most women he knew. She kind of reminded him of Ingrid Bergman from that nun movie, she had the right look...'course it could have just been the habit.

"Some of the sisters think the rapture's finally come," she began softly, as though one of the men had asked her a question. "That the dead rising is a sign of the apocalypse."

The Lieutenant furrowed his brow at her random entrance into the conversation, but said nothing.

"They're losing faith." She sighed. "They think because they're still here, God hasn't chosen them to ascend into heaven."

Daryl had stopped his work to stare at the woman, both men were staring at the woman like she had grown a second head.

"So tell me," she said adjusting the voluminous black skirt of her habit. "What's really going on outside these walls? Do I give my girls hope or guns?"

The Lieutenant was a little wounded that the woman hadn't ever asked him that question, but then again she probably knew he'd lie. He'd tell her anything to keep her from worrying.

Daryl went back to his work.

"It ain't God's work, that's for damned sure." He muttered. "You'd be stupid not to arm these women to the teeth. Teach them how to defend themselves. Not just from the dead," he added bitterly.

The Lieutenant scowled. "What do you mean?"

"Man," Daryl growled, "think about it! There ain't no law out there! Fucking walkers and goddamned rapists running around killing people!"

"I didn't know it got that bad," he returned quietly.

"It's worse," Daryl stated. "It's damned worse. People have broken up into tribes and we ain't friendly with outsiders. You gotta protect what's yours, you gotten arm these women, teach them how to protect this place."

Eyeing the Old Missy, the Lieutenant noted a moment of absolute fear take over her features, before her eyes steeled and she nodded. "I see. Thank you for your honesty. Lieutenant? A word?"

Feeling like a little boy sent to the principal's office, the Lieutenant stood up. "Yes, Ma'am."

"And clean that bark off my church steps when you finish, honey?" The Old Missy commanded Daryl. "This is a convent, not a farmyard."

The _petit cabri_ squinted up at the woman, neither agreeing nor arguing with her command.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Mal Pris** - Stuck in a bad situation.

**Texian** - All people who don't talk like Cajun's are referred to as Texian's.

**Moochon** - Knob or in this case stump.

**Capon** - Beggar or rogue.


	4. Fils De Putain

**MarionArnold - Haha! Yeah, those damned turkeys...elusive and shifty birds.  
**

**Violeta27 - I can tell you're enjoying this silly little fanfiction, because you're actually reviewing. Means the world to me. ^_^  
**

**Ehehe, getting curses in my chapter titles past the fanfiction censors pleases me...  
**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Fils De Putain**

****Daryl****

He didn't know what the hell had gone wrong exactly.

If he had to make an assumption, he'd say things went sour the instant Rick decided to take the prison.

Sure it was a good idea and once settled it was ideal, but the place had been nothing but bad luck for them since they got there. Maybe the farm had spoiled him. Maybe he got to fat and contented sitting around the safety of the farm that after all that the prison seemed like hell with it's hard floors and cold drafts.

Of course he wouldn't have made any other different choices than the ones Rick had made, but the whole situation was shitty therefore shitty outcomes were all they would find.

They had fallen on hard times during the winter, no one had any hope as they struggled and scratched to make it through the cold months, but the spring came and they found hope again in the form of high walls and bars on the doors and windows.

Daryl Dixon of all people knew that hope liked to kick you in the balls when you got too confident in its certainty.

When they had lost Lori, T-Dog and Carol all in one day, he had thought that maybe the world they were struggling to survive in finally had gotten the best of them, when it took someone as sweet and gentle as Carol, he knew it was a miserable, bastard of a world. Even worse than it was before.

But then he found her and that little fucker hope was back, tapping on his temple, reminding him that it was there.

He knew then that things would get worse. Hope was like that.

Sure enough, Glenn and Maggie were gone, this new woman arrived with trouble written all over her, the Governor, Woodbury, Merle, things came crashing back down on him and hope once more fucked him over a barrel without any lube and laughed about it.

He had thought he was good as dead when he realized that his legs had stopped working for him in the woods as he carried Merle's sorry ass from Woodbury, but that little asshole hope showed up in the form of a soldier boy stepping out of the forest, heading for them and once again Daryl knew no good would come of his arrival.

Sure enough, the prison was empty by the time Daryl made it back.

Well, empty was an awkward word to use. It was full of walkers, but they were nothing, so it was empty.

His first thought – after a long, mental 'fuck' – had been of Carol. Nobody else in the group cared for her. He knew that. They'd notice her gone if the laundry wasn't done or their food tasted like shit, but they didn't worry about her eating or sleeping enough. They weren't the ones who perched themselves on a counter top in a homey RV just to be there for her while her baby girl's grave was being dug, they didn't look half as hard as they should have for Sophia, they didn't offer Carol a kind distraction from her sorrow and they sure as hell didn't make any attempt to hold her back when she raced to certain death at the arms of her walker daughter.

He often wondered why _he_ had done all that.

That was something he didn't want to dwell on too much. He had no time for any of those soft emotions that would get him killed, not in the new world that was left to them.

Still, Daryl could recall the indescribable feeling of emptiness at the loss of her, when they had all given her up as dead. It had been as bad, if not worse than the feeling he had when Merle was gone.

As much as Daryl loved his brother - and he did - he couldn't deny that Merle did stupid shit, that there had been nights before the dead started walking around when he'd have to drag his ass out of bed to go down to the local police department to bail his brother out of jail. No, Daryl certainly didn't miss that about his brother. What he missed with Merle had been that extra pair of eyes to watch his back, that older brother wisdom that Merle did seem to have when it came to matters such as survival.

But with Carol, as the hours went on, as the days passed like all the rest, he found he missed her. He missed the moment when he'd come back from hunting and slip into the kitchens to hand off the field dressed critters he had caught then cleaned for her. That he had to give them to Beth, who somehow didn't give him the right kind of greeting that Carol had.

Carol had a way with her eyes of saying 'I missed you, glad you're back in one piece' that Beth just didn't. She was the only woman he knew who had ever actively sought him out. Most of the easy girls back home who came around were sniffing for Merle. But when Carol would repeatedly seek him out back on the farm, Daryl was at first suspicious - his default mode of anyone that wasn't Merle - then angry at her intrusion into his space. There was a reason he set his tent up so far from the others, but she didn't seem to get the hint. And it bothered him that somewhere deep, deep down he kind of liked that she came around, that she was unfazed by his hot temper. Over the winter she had began to develop a bit of a cheeky attitude towards him that he found unsettled his gut, but not because he disliked it. It unsettled him because he was actually a little proud of it. She went from this mousy creature who lost her daughter to this woman who he felt could most definitely handle herself. After Sophia he had worried that she'd go the other way, she'd become too overconfident in her strength like Andrea, or collapse in on herself and give up.

He was never more relieved after the farm was lost, then he was when she sidled up beside him as they were about to settle into a temporary place for the night and asked him if he'd show her a few things about guns.

Of course he acted like it was a pain in his ass, but he never refused her. He wanted to be the one to teach her all the tips and tricks she'd need, because he wanted to be confident in her ability to handle herself.

If Carol was dead for good this time, however, he swore hope and everything related to it would die as well. He'd make sure of that. Sure, there were things even a Dixon couldn't kill, but he'd find a way. There would be no more of that shit around him.

That weird Cajun fellow wandered out of the church where he had retired with the old nun, heading for the infirmary a little quicker than his usual easy pace and Daryl glowered at the back of him.

The youngest Dixon had a problem with authority figures (not to the extent his brother did, mind). It was bad enough Rick was an ex-cop, but that fucking marine with the slow Cajun drawl was quickly rising on Daryl's list of people who needed their noses broke.

It wasn't like the man gave him attitude, Daryl just didn't like the way the man looked at him. Like he knew him or knew what he was thinking. It was annoying as hell and Daryl wasn't going to put up with it much longer. That was the entire reason he avoid Dale as much as he could, the man knew too much about people without knowing them at all.

The image of Dale raising his forehead to the barrel of that fucking gun came to mind and the twig he was working on snapped in his grip. Daryl shook his head to clear his thoughts. Fucking world had gone to shit and he was daydreaming.

Turning the combat knife over in his hands to scrape sticky bark off the blade, he noticed there was a single word carved into the handle and lifted it into the light to read it better.

"Salt?" He snarled.

That fucking soldier was weird as fuck.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

He was eating cold stew that a nun had brought him the next morning, when the soldier boy took a seat at his side, setting a handful of ruffed grouse pinfeathers down for him. All night he tempered the wood of his bolts over a fire, waiting for daylight and the feathers to finish his work.

"Couldn't catch the little _fils de putain_," the man drawled in this stupid accent of his. "Grouse feathers will work, yeah?"

Daryl nodded, barely chewing before swallowing his stew.

The Lieutenant gave him one of his all-knowing looks, before looking off to check on the nuns at the gates and on the wall.

Daryl eyed the man, putting down his empty plate. "Your dogtag says you're a Sergeant Major," he snarled. "You telling lies to make yourself feel better or what?"

The Lieutenant chuckled. "I was promoted on the field by the Lieutenant before me. Didn't have much time to get myself a new dogtag."

Daryl was silent, which was usually his way of letting someone go on without having to urge them. He wasn't going to give the Cajun a leg up in the conversation, but he wasn't going to stop him. The chatter kept his mind from wandering.

"He was bit." The man scowled at the grounds around them. "Think his name was Henderson. Second Lieutenant Henderson. Hell, I jumped over the Warrant Officer ranks, headed straight for Lieutenant. Ain't that something? 'Course," he added in his slow drawl, "the world was ending…so…"

As the man spoke, Daryl began to notch the bolts enough to attach the fletching.

"I suppose with the world ending, it makes us beggars into Kings, yeah?" The Lieutenant pointed out lightly.

Daryl snorted. "It makes fools into bigger fools with better ranks."

The Lieutenant chuckled then, it soon became a strangely innocent, half mad, half child-like cackle. "Possibly." He looked around them then, at the grounds. "What the fuck am I doing here surrounded by armed nuns?" He asked in mild bewilderment.

Daryl's mouth twisted briefly into one of his fleeting grins. Or maybe it was a grimace, he couldn't tell the difference between the two anymore.

"I mean, Jesus Christ, ain't never been in a church in my life and here I am, dead start walking around and I'm arming nuns and teaching them how to shoot. Maybe they'll make a saint out of me at the end of it all. I'll most definitely be _defan_ then, yeah?" The man laughed a little longer at whatever Cajun joke he just made, before kicking a boot out and resting the other over it neatly. "So, what's going on? What's Woodbury? And why did your group kick dust out of the prison?"

"I wasn't lying about people breaking into tribes," Daryl muttered. "The assholes over in Woodbury, they got a nice little set up, walled, clean, safe. It's fucking suburbia over there. But their leader, fellow named the Governor, he likes to take things. His people get everything, other groups get rubbed out."

"Where's this Woodbury?" The Lieutenant asked.

"Down the highway a ways, I think if you keep quiet your group will be okay from them, though. You just have to be careful who you let in your gates and if you go into the towns to scrounge you gotta watch your back, the Governor's men like to nab people. Interrogate them."

"And you? Do we have to beware of your group?" The Cajun drawled, half teasing.

"Naw, Rick's protective of us, but he wouldn't ever take on another group unless provoked." Daryl studied the convent around them. "You did right by me and Merle, I'll let him know that."

"Rick your leader?"

"Yeah." Daryl glanced down at his work, then up at the Lieutenant. "He used to be a cop."

"So you ain't all prisoners? That's a big relief."

"Prisoners?" Daryl asked. "Only one of us is a prisoner, the rest of us just moved in this spring."

Running a hand over his face, the Lieutenant sighed heavily. "Okay, then I'm going assume since humanity has broken down and been reset back to tribal customs, I'm going to have to take a lesson from history and side with your band of Cherokees against the bigger force of evil."

"Don't need your help, be best if you just stay out of this mess," Daryl replied.

"Ah, but if I help you, then when we annihilate the common threat, we might be able to co-exist peacefully."

"Chickasaws and Cherokees, huh?"

"Exactly."

"Well then, best get your war paint on," Daryl remarked, pushing to his feet. "I'm going to find me some damned dental floss…"

"For what?" The Lieutenant stopped him.

"Have to attach the fletching somehow, don't think you'd have glue," Daryl replied.

The soldier boy patted himself down and pulled a box of dental floss from one of his many flak-jacket pockets. At Daryl's odd look, the Cajun shrugged.

"I like to have clean teeth on the go." He explained.

Taking the floss, Daryl scowled. "Sure you're from Louisiana?"

The Cajun tsked at him.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

They approached the prison from the front gate, loaded down with enough supplies to last them a few days should they get cut off from their exit, but not enough to weigh them down terribly.

Daryl had piled most of the stuff on the soldier boy, seemed like he was used to dragging shit around on his back. He didn't care. If the idiot was dumb enough to want to involve himself in someone else's war, he could, just meant Daryl had someone to watch his ass, which was never a bad thing.

Not that he trusted the man too much, but he figured if the Cajun wanted to kill him he would have just left him in the woods.

"I figure if we take it slow," he explained to the soldier as they crouched just at the treeline, out of sight of the walkers. "Clear the yard first, go cellblock by cellblock, we might get most of them cleared out by nightfall."

"Naw," the Lieutenant said, pointing with his hand at the nearest watchtower. "You get me up there and I can do what I do best. I ain't so good up close, but give me some distance and you got good coverage guaranteed."

"No, the gun makes too much noise, can't risk it." Daryl argued.

"Don't matter much, we're going have one hell of a fight on our hands anyways, may as well do what I do best. First things first, _Texian_, someone's gotta get out there and close that second gate, gives us a bit more security, yeah? Before we're ready for the second wave."

Daryl eyed the distance between the two gates, Rick had run it before to lock up the second gate, but they had more people, more coverage last time. He bared his teeth, squinting at the yard and the twenty some walkers inside it.

"Okay," the Lieutenant made an adjustment to the plan. "Maybe I run it, you just lost half your blood supply, I'm faster on my feet, got longer legs to cover more ground. Can you cover me in the tower if I give you my gun?"

"No, I'll make the run. You just get your ass up in that tower and don't miss." Daryl grunted, handing off the pack he was carrying on his back to the man.

"I'd rather you didn't, _capon_, you look pale."

"I'll be fine."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Fils de putain** - Son of a bitch.

**Defan** - Cajun way of saying deceased (literally means Sainted), often used before someone's name or title as in 'Defan Jean' or 'Defan Mamere'.


	5. Mamere

**MarionArnold - Thanks for the review. Your reviews make me happier than a pantsless old man in waist high grass.  
**

**I'm not a review whore, kids. Review or don't.**

**Just keep in mind that reviews let me know that you're actually enjoying the work and not accidentally clicking on it. I could be doing other things with my time you know, like, sleeping, or eating...or prank calling Lithuania and then sleeping some more and then waking up to eat and then playing some Fallout, then going outside just to prove a point to myself (I'm not actually allergic to the sun!), then prank calling Lithuania again (this time with a dirty limerick), then going back to bed. I'm a busy person, kids. Got a full schedule and a Lithuanian phone book.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Five: _Mamere_  
**

****Daryl****

Fuck.

He sprinted across the prison yard, repeating shitty history only this time in Rick's boots.

Dodging a walker who lunged at him, Daryl caught the bastard behind the knee with his foot and downed it, bringing a powerful foot down on its face. It was disgusting and risky, but fuck it, shoes and pants could be washed. As long as the asshole didn't bite him while his foot was down there, but with two more walkers already on him, he didn't think he'd have the time to stoop and finish the job properly.

The walker's teeth crunched under his heel and his face smashed in with a small, rotten smelling explosion. The best thing about stomping rotten ass was that it was ready to collapse already, just a little pressure in the right places and a walker could be crushed with ease.

Preparing to down the two on him, Daryl found them both sinking to the ground, the cracks of two shots almost instant.

Reaching the second gate, he yanked it shut and used a couple pieces of heavy wire to twist it shut in a few places, noticing as he turned to take care of more walkers that a good chunk of them were already dropped on the ground, littering it with bodies from the first gate to the second.

Daryl took out three more, before he realized that was it. The Lieutenant wasn't just blowing smoke out his ass, he was a pretty good shot. He was fast, which made all the difference in the end when it came to walkers.

Feeling a little lightheaded, Daryl ensured both gates were secure, before he dropped to one knee to rest.

A canteen was being shaken in front of his face and Daryl took it, pushing to his feet so that the Lieutenant didn't tower over him. He didn't like to have people hanging over him like that.

He took a couple of gulps.

"Not bad with ol' Salt, _petit cabri_," the Lieutenant teased, before laughing that borderline insane laugh of his. "_Mais_, should take a little break, yeah? Don't want to push yourself."

"I'm fine."

The Lieutenant looked at him with that fucking look on his, before grinning crookedly. "Sure you are, but maybe I need a rest, yeah?"

"Take one on your own time," Daryl growled. "Come on."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

The door to Cellblock C was locked by the time they got there that night and they spent the rest of the waning daylight hours looking for the keys to ensure they were either with the group or in Daryl's possession to keep the supplies safe from looters. They moved about as much of the prison as they dared, killing walkers that crossed their path, when they couldn't find the keys they decided to camp out in one of the guard towers where the walkers wouldn't get to them, before clearing the rest of the prison out in the morning.

Daryl was only back at the prison for two reasons anyways, to ensure the group's supplies were secure from scavengers and to make sure no one had gotten left behind.

The locked cellblock was empty and all their stuff was secure inside it, tomorrow they'd give the rest of the prison a once over, before he took up the group's trail.

Across from him, sitting on a table eyeing the grounds below them, the Lieutenant whistled an idle tune and it was beginning to annoy the hell of Daryl.

"You wanna shut the hell up?" He snarled.

"If I leave here tomorrow," the man sung softly, "would you still remember me?"

"I'm serious, shut up."

"For I must be traveling on now, cuz there's too many places I've got to see," he went on.

"I will push you from this tower," Daryl snarled. "Are you fucking weird in the head?"

"Come on, _Texian_, I thought all you good ol' boys liked Lynyrd Skynyrd." The Lieutenant shot back, not at all insulted by Daryl's gruff words.

"Fuck you."

"ZZ Top?"

Daryl chose to ignore the weird fucking Cajun, focusing on the ground below them.

"I knew this girl back home," the Lieutenant began, "named Grace. She was a beautiful girl, soft peaches and cream skin, big blue eyes, curved in all the right places."

"Sure it was a girl, Fay?" Daryl demanded, hoping his cruelty would shut the fucker up.

The Lieutenant smirked. "Well, I think she was girl…if not the operation was a success. Anyways, she used to be a bit of a wild cat, sort of fiery like Tabasco sauce on the underside of your cock. You know the type."

Daryl blinked at the man.

"_Mais_, anyways I was walking home one day from the store, I walked everywhere back home, not much point in driving when you're twenty minutes from everything. So I'm walking home, got my groceries, eggs and shit in the bag and this beat up red Chevy pulls up. And this girl, Grace, is just sitting in the front seat and I had her on the hook. Now, don't ask me how, I ain't a Valentino or anything when it comes to women. So, I'm standing there with my fucking eggs in a bag and she says to me 'want a ride?' like she's picking up a lady of the evening or something. 'Course, I knew there was a double meaning there, didn't have to spell it out for me. Girl knew how to inflect her voice in all the right ways. So, I'm standing there, got my fucking eggs and I think brown sugar of all things, in this stupid plastic bag in my left hand and I'm looking at this pretty little thing of a woman and she's ready to go, all I need to do is get in. And then all I can think is 'fuck no I don't want a ride!' this woman has been with every man I knew personally…she's gotta have something."

"You didn't take the ride?" Daryl asked.

"Naw, felt kind of bad for her. Woman like that bases her entire worth on how men react to them. But a woman like that, she changes you, how you see the world, how you react to the world." The Lieutenant said. "You know what I mean?"

Daryl watched as a walker below them ran into the fence and proceeded to knock against it in a vain attempt at gaining entry.

"So, who's Carol?"

The name was tossed out so casually from the Lieutenant's stupid Cajun speaking mouth that Daryl nearly jumped right up from where he leaned, instead he winced at the walker below them and clenched his hand into a fist.

The funny thing was that he didn't do out of anger. Daryl knew anger and his hand clenching at the mention of Carol was certainly not out of anger. It was almost a reflexive action, some odd occurrence in him that caused his hand to flinch at the mention of Carol.

"You said her name the other day when you were out cold." The Lieutenant went on.

"Don't concern yourself over who she is," Daryl snapped.

"Fair enough."

They fell silent for a moment.

"She's probably fine," the Lieutenant said suddenly. "Can't see no woman hanging around you without picking up a few of those fancy knife tricks."

Daryl was silent, he wasn't sure if he wanted to beat the hell out of the Cajun yet. Sure the man was providing him some much needed ass coverage, but he was also too curious about him and knowing about Carol certainly made Daryl want to slap the man unconscious and he didn't know why.

Maybe it was Carol's voice in his head telling him that he was 'every bit as good as them' that stayed his hand from smacking the Cajun around, or maybe it was the fact that despite being highly annoyed with him, Daryl was grateful for the help the soldier boy was offering.

Not that anyone would _ever_ know that.

"I knew another girl, named Eloise, had a smile that could charm a snake."

Sighing lightly, Daryl leaned his forehead against the cool glass window of the tower. It felt like it was going to be a long night.

Behind him the Lieutenant fell silent suddenly and Daryl was on his feet, worried it was a walker or some shit going down, instead he found the Cajun had leaned forward and let his own forehead rest against the glass, eyes distant. The man didn't seem like he was going to finish that thought.

The silence was irritating, almost worse than the Cajun's talking, but Daryl wasn't quite sure how to break it. He supposed he could go outside to avoid the quiet, but he wasn't sure he was ready to move just yet. So he shifted on his feet, changing the dominant foot to support his weight.

There had been times in Daryl's life when he had learned the hard way how talking only lead to trouble, mostly through his father's impatience, mostly through Merle opening his big mouth at the wrong moment to the wrong person. Daryl wasn't a talker by any means, he said what needed to be said and left it at that. But the Cajun looked oddly forlorn, it wasn't right, it didn't settle well with Daryl.

"There's a baby in my group," Daryl supplied suddenly, shocking himself. He would have never said anything about the little Ass Kicker to anyone he didn't trust, so it shocked him that he supplied that information needlessly to the Cajun.

Maybe he wanted to distract the man from what Daryl knew must have been dark thoughts of his own.

It seemed to work, as the Lieutenant drew in a deep breath and turned from the window. "How old?"

"Just little, less than a week."

"Jesus."

Daryl squinted at the man.

"She yours?"

"Naw, Rick's."

The Lieutenant nodded. "I bet he hightailed her out of here then, wouldn't want to be caught in the middle of a gunfight with a baby."

Daryl wasn't so sure of that. He was sure Carol took off with Judith, Rick probably stayed as long as he could to defend what was his with the others, but Carol probably bolted first thing with Herschel and Beth.

The thought that Carol was probably out there alone, with only those two to back her didn't sit well with him. Sure the old man could shoot, but he only had one leg and wasn't entirely recuperated yet. He'd be more of a hindrance than a help and Beth knew her way around a gun, but couldn't aim for shit.

Suddenly Daryl was restless and tense. He knew it was time to head outside.

"I'm going to walk around on the platform a bit." He said. "See if I can figure some easier way to clear out the rest of the prison."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

The next morning they were clearing what they could of the prison, cutting their time back when Daryl decided to only inspect the areas the group had been using daily. He didn't want to waste too much time when he'd rather be on the trail of the group.

It was as they were walking the fence line in the back of the prison, that Daryl spied it just outside the chainlink, lying among the tall, dead grass.

He wouldn't have noticed it, if it wasn't for the fact it was bright pink and fluttered every now and then on the gentle breeze.

"Hey," he called over to the Cajun who was inspecting the fence for holes that may have been made during the gunfight.

The Lieutenant joined him and eyed the material.

"Recognize it?" He asked.

"Baby blanket," he replied.

He should know, he was the one that scooped it up from Miss Sue's class for the Little Asskicker. If she was out without a blanket, the little thing would get cold fast during the nights. Spring had come, but it was still cold at nights. Too cold for tiny newborns.

They circled around to the front gate and headed back around on the outside of the fence for the blanket, Daryl keeping an eye out for walkers and signs of bent grass where someone made an escape from.

Kneeling, he picked up the soft blanket upon arriving at it and eyed the area.

Sure enough a trail lead away from the prison through the tall grass and as Daryl stuffed the blanket into the Lieutenant's pack, he spied something else among the tall grass that froze him for a moment.

For a mere instant he couldn't move at the sight of a hand lying buried in the thick grass.

Slowly, with his crossbow raised, he approached the body.

Aiming at the area where the head would be, he kicked away the tall grass to see better and found that dirty prisoner lying there, his body riddled with bullets, one thankfully had caught him in the head.

"He one of yours?"

"Barely," Daryl replied, breathing easier. "Name was Axel, prisoner here when we arrived."

He gazed down the trail of bent grass. Carol had been this way and she was with Judith, because he knew she wouldn't leave that child to anyone's care, not after Sophia.

Tearing the sleeves off his shirt, he tied them to the fence. "If it doesn't rain tonight I can pick up the trail again tomorrow," he explained. "No sense us stumbling around in the dark tonight. Come on, help me get the body buried."

Daryl didn't really care for the man, but the rule still applied. They buried their own. And while Axel had skirted the group, he was still technically a member and deserved a burial. Besides, for all he knew the prisoner took the bullets saving Carol and Judith.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

The Cajun was eyeing the three graves when Daryl returned from inside the prison with the shovels the group had stashed there, hand hooked on the strap of his rifle.

"Who's buried here?" He asked finally.

Daryl dropped the shovels. "Lori," he pointed at her grave, "and T-Dog."

"Who's in that one?" The man motioned to the last.

"Don't matter. It's empty."

"Why don't we bury the prisoner in it then? The ground's already soft enough to dig, we could be done by the time the sun starts dying off."

Shaking his head once, Daryl handed the man a pick. "Axel goes beside Lori." He ordered.

The Lieutenant eyed him with those fucking all knowing eyes of his, but said nothing, setting down his rifle to work.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

On their way out of the prison that evening, they secured everything as best they could. With no sign of the keys, Daryl was hesitant to lock up doors, but he didn't hesitate when it came to the kitchens or the generator room. He figured the worst thing would be that when the group was found and came back without the keys they'd have to bust a few doors down.

At least the walkers seemed to have chased the Governor's men off so that they didn't loot the place of the precious little food supplies.

At the front gate, Daryl paused.

"I wish we had something to lock it with," he muttered, eyeing the gate. "Keep the walkers out so we don't have to clear it again."

The Lieutenant eyed the gate for a moment.

"_Mais_, going to have to leave it for the night, _Texian_. I think the sisters have some padlocks on some of their garden sheds they might be willing to part with. We can dash back here tomorrow morning, lock it up before doing anything else."

Daryl nodded, taking one last lingering look at the prison, before nodding. "Alright."

"Let's get back, yeah? Maybe Merle's finally up and about. God knows we could use the extra hands," the soldier's step faltered and he quickly corrected himself, "hand. Sorry."

They started walking up the road to the highway, Daryl hooking his thumb under the strap of his crossbow.

"How's the _grande beede_ lose that hand of his, anyways?" The Lieutenant asked after a moment.

"He hacked it off with a dull coping saw," Daryl replied simply.

The Lieutenant blinked. "Why?"

"You ever hear about how rat's will gnaw their legs off if trapped?" Daryl eyed the man at his side. "Let's just say there's a reason why Merle ain't going to be happy you trussed him up like you did."

Images of his brother's hand lying in a pool of congealing blood came back to him and Daryl could have sworn he could smell the faint scent of putrescence from his brother's limb. It had been lying on that roof in the hot Georgian sun and was already beginning to rot when they arrived.

All the walkers Daryl had smelled never got to him as much as the scent of his own flesh and blood decaying. It squeezed the contents in his stomach and made him sick.

He choked the urge to vomit down with a wince.

At his side, the Lieutenant was eyeing a walker who numbly staggered towards them.

The man was calm, almost eerily cold as he studied the approaching thing.

Daryl raised his crossbow and shot it, putting it down efficiently.

"You ever put down one of your own?" The Lieutenant asked quietly, moving around the slumped corpse.

Pausing long enough to retrieve his bolt, Daryl wiped the walker blood off on his pants. "Nope," he lied, hoping to avoid more talk.

"They outta have a name for that feeling you get afterwards," the Cajun said. "Considering it's basically the end of the world, maybe I should make one up..." the man mused. "Executioner's remorse, maybe."

Eyeing him as though he had lost his goddamned mind, Daryl pushed ahead of the Cajun to lead the way.

"My _Mamere_ would say all these uggies walking around is just mankind reaping what he has sown, that those of us left alive are here to bear witness to the cruelty of man as we suffer through hell to come out the other side forged stronger than steel." The Lieutenant paused. "'Course she was out of her goddamned mind towards the end..."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Daryl demanded.

"I guess I just hadn't had anyone to talk to in a while. Nuns and I don't really have much in common."

"And what makes you think we do?"

"Not much, I guess. But you're a good listener."

Daryl grunted a reply, trudging onwards.


	6. Le Grande Beede

**Violeta27 - Well...since it's just for you...I guess I can keep going. Yes, I no sooner posted a new chapter then I got a notice about a lovely review from you. Sorry I couldn't give you due honour in that last chapter. This is a thanks from me to you, darling. *imaginary cake* You get the non-existent cake!  
**

**MarionArnold - Yeah, I think Axel's alright. I mean he's scruffy and hit on Carol, but the guy isn't a total spaz, so he gets some respect and love. Of course Daryl doesn't know about the whole hitting shamelessly on Carol thing...  
**

**Anonymous Reviewer - Oh, mysterious love from someone! Thanks for the review. I hate original characters too, but this idea popped into my head and wouldn't work with anyone but an original character. It's probably why I'm so nervous, I know how people hate originals...  
**

**The love you reviewers provide me with is enough to make me want to do something dangerous, like going outside my home. Wish me luck with that.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Le Grande Beede**

****Merle****

He couldn't remember drinking, so there was no reason why his head was fucking throbbing like he got fucked up on a three day binge.

Raising his right hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes, he smacked his nose with the cold metal of his blade base and it sliced the bridge open from the force.

"Jesus fuck tits," he grunted, struggling to sit up and get his bearings.

He found his left wrist was bound to a simple wrought iron headboard and his ankles bound at the foot.

"What in the good goddamned?" He snarled, slowly becoming aware of his situation.

Over him a woman in a black dress…no a nun, hovered, her rosary clacking against his chest as she studied his new cut, applying a bandage to it quickly and quietly.

"Calm down, sir. You've had a rough few days."

Merle gaped at the woman for a moment, eyeing her face, then her loose habit, then the subtle shape of her tits under the black material, before dragging himself back to priorities.

"Where am I?" He demanded.

"Veil of Tears Convent," she said. "You're safe here."

"Good, how about untying me then?"

"I think I should wait until the Lieutenant comes back with Daryl."

"My brother? He's here?"

"Not at the moment, he went off to the prison with the Lieutenant." She placed a strong, small hand on his chest and pushed him back onto the mattress gently. "Just lie back and relax until they get back."

Merle eyed the hand on his chest, before smiling. "You like ol' Merle tied up, huh?"

The woman didn't react the way a normal one would, with either anger or disgust (and on the very rare, but exceedingly pleasing occasion's eagerness), she just eyed him for a moment, before sitting back in the chair she was in when he woke.

"My name is Sister Mary Claire," she said. "I understand your name is Merle Dixon."

"Sure is." He returned. "How about untying me long enough so I can take a piss at least? Think you can do that for me, sugar tits?"

The woman blinked at him, before reaching for a box of rubber gloves off the side table and a funny looking bottle. She snapped the glove on with an emotional deficiency that Merle didn't like.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

He felt violated, but wouldn't let the woman know that as she 'helped' him piss. Turns out he couldn't when someone was aiding him so professionally. So he held it stubbornly, shifting every now and then on the bed in discomfort.

Lying on the bed like a sack of shit later that afternoon, he eyed the priest who stood in the corner with a rifle in hand.

"Jesus, you guys pack heat now, Father?" He teased. "Like genuine cowboys."

The man moved across the room to sit at Merle's bedside. "How's your shoulder? It was pretty torn up."

"I've had worse," Merle replied. "Should have seen the other guy." Merle looked about, trying not to let the man know just how much he hated being tied up. He'd been held down once in his life, just once and he didn't take to it. "Where's that's pretty Sister of yours? I liked her better. Had nicer tits."

The priest blinked. "What's wrong with my tits?"

Merle blinked back at him, before smiling and wagging his stump at him. "You got you a smart mouth on you, Pops."

"Sister Mary Claire was feeling a little uncomfortable in your presence, I told her I'd watch over you from now on."

He couldn't help smiling. "Really? How uncomfortable did I make her?"

"You know," the man began, "I went through a phase where all I could think of was sex too. It was called puberty."

"I don't think you know who you're talking to, Pops." Merle replied.

"I know exactly who I'm talking to, son." The man replied sharply. "You think I haven't met your sort before? Horndogs looking for their next lay, hoping to fill that empty pit inside them with meaningless sex."

"Preacherman done taught me a lesson," Merle taunted. "Hallelujah."

The priest's face darkened ever so. "These are my girls, son. You treat them with some respect while you're within these walls."

"Or what, Pops? Huh? Gonna fire at me with that little BB gun of yours?"

Ignoring his taunts, the priest sat back in his chair, calmer and kinder looking. "Now, you treat these girls good and we'll give all we can in ways of food and protection."

"I'd rather saw my other hand off with the same old dull blade than live in a convent surrounded by tight assed nuns and a dick of a preacherman," Merle grumbled.

"Suit yourself."

The two of them glared at each other sullenly for the rest of the afternoon.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

By the time his baby bro showed his pretty boy face, Merle was ready to gnaw his arm off if only to get out of being tied down. He was a Dixon, not used to just sitting on his ass while hours of his life burned away.

Daryl came to stand at the foot of the bed, eyes narrowed, muscle in his jaw taunt and tense.

"Hey, little brother," Merle greeted. "What say you untie me and we burn out of this house of horrors?" He was mildly insulted when the little shit hesitated, eyeing the soldier boy who had arrived with him. "Hey, don't look to lover boy, get me out of these ties, Darlina!"

Daryl sighed. "Your convent, your call, man." He addressed the soldier.

The soldier took a good, long look at Merle, grey eyes narrowed at him. "We untie you, you behave, yeah?" He asked in a silly Cajun accent.

"I'll be as good as gold," Merle replied in a taunting, sweet tone.

"I'm probably going to eventually regret this," the soldier muttered, moving close to Merle to untie him.

Merle allowed the man to finish with all his ties, before he slowly sat up in the bed. His shoulder hurt like hell, but he wasn't complaining. A bad day was when he didn't wake at all, so therefore - in his mind - he was still winning the human race.

"Well, fiddle-dee-dee, Darlina, look who's free," he stated pushing to his feet. "Come on, get your shit, let's get out of here."

"Can't," Daryl replied.

Stopping halfway down to tie his bootlaces, Merle realized that not only did he forget he couldn't tie the fuckers, but that his baby brother was giving him some resistance.

"What?" He asked.

"I'm going in the morning," Daryl said.

Merle paused. "Where?"

"Got a trail to follow. Think I might find the group at the end of it."

"They left you?"

"I think the Governor may have chased them out of the prison," Daryl said.

Merle could remember Daryl when he was a young pup, how he'd get his hopes up whenever their asshole father would go off on one of his benders. Despite the fact the old man beat the shit out of him, the little idiot still looked for their dad every day he was gone. He knew that look of hope Daryl would get and while Merle would never admit it to anyone, that look made him sick, because he knew how hard Daryl took it when he was let down. He didn't want Daryl to get that look, because it only ever meant he would get let down again. Merle had always tried to kill hope before it got to his baby brother, but sometimes he wasn't fast enough and the little dumb ass got crushed under it.

"They're probably glad to be rid of your ass," Merle said bitterly, hoping his baby bro would get the hint and just let things go. "Don't need 'em anyways, you got me brother. Ain't I the only one that matters?"

Daryl shifted ever so on his feet.

Turning on the soldier and the priest who were quietly observing the two, Merle scowled. "What is this? Free fucking entertainment? Give me a minute alone with my brother, won't you?"

The two hesitated.

"It's okay," Daryl said.

They both gave Merle one last look, before leaving the room.

"Hey, Darlina," Merle said. "We're better on our own, right? Dixon brother's don't need nobody but each other."

Daryl chewed on the inside of his cheek.

That was a look Merle hadn't ever seen on his baby brother's face, it was a new look entirely. He squinted at him. "What's eating your ass, girl?"

"They wouldn't leave me," Daryl argued.

"But they did and they ain't coming back."

_Just like pa._

Merle took a step forward. "Come on, you and me, baby bro. Kick some walker ass."

Daryl seemed to wince, his lips parting, twitching back and up a little.

This new look on his baby brother's face was interesting and Merle cataloged it mentally. "Talk to me, little brother."

"I have to join up with the group," Daryl stated. "I have to be there."

"What do you owe them?"

"They need me." Daryl replied, suddenly looking everywhere but at Merle.

"Who?" Merle demanded. He wasn't one for soft tones, but he tried his damnedest with his brother sometimes. Especially when he got all skittish and girly on him.

"They got a baby now, little Ass Kicker." Daryl said.

"So?"

Daryl chewed on his thumbnail and moved back from Merle. "She's only little and she's out there in the cold somewhere."

"Is she yours?" Merle wasn't sure he was gone from the group that long and he was certain Daryl never seeded any of the women while they were holed up at the quarry, but his brother was sneaky at times and hell if Merle couldn't keep track of him all the time.

"No."

"Then why do you fucking care? She ain't a Dixon, she ain't nothing to us."

His baby brother seemed to be thinking this over in his little squirrel brained head and Merle waited for a moment, giving him a little time to mull it over.

"Come on now," Merle insisted. "Let's you and I blow out of here, nuns can kiss our asses on the way out."

Shifting on his feet, Daryl tilted his head, still thinking over something.

"You did miss me, didn't you, baby bro?"

"'Course I did."

Moving up beside Daryl, Merle hefted a strong arm around his brother's shoulders. "And ol' Merle's still kicking, ain't I?"

"We went back for you," his little brother said suddenly. "Rick and I."

"So? Didn't need your help, did I? Got down off that roof all on my own."

"Why didn't you wait?" Daryl asked. "I couldn't find you anywhere."

Growing impatient with the simpering nature of the conversation, Merle removed his arm from Daryl's shoulders and sighed. "Like those soft asses would have let me just stroll back into their fucking group. Wouldn't trust any of them any further than I could throw them and neither should you." He growled. "I'm going to take a piss."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

By the time Merle returned to his brother's side from where he took a leak outside against the building, he found Daryl in basically the same spot, nibbling his thumbnail down to nothing.

He slapped Daryl upside the head.

"Goddamn stop that! I told you before that's a nasty fucking tell," Merle growled, pissed off with Daryl for being such a pussy all the time. "No wonder you lose at poker all the goddamned time."

Daryl dropped his arm.

"Now are we getting out of here or do I have to take you outside and beat some sense into your dumb ass?"

"Thought I saw you strolling around outside," the soldier boy broke in, stepping into the infirmary from the outside. "Old Missy told to me come in here, that maybe you two would like a little tour of the place."

"Don't need one," Merle said. "Ain't going to be here long enough."

The soldier boy stopped in the middle of the room as stared long and hard at Merle.

"Got a problem, Rosie?" Merle snapped.

"Naw."

"Then get the fuck out."

"Ever hear the saying 'beware the fury of the patient man', _couyon_?" The man asked.

Merle scowled. "Ever hear the saying 'he beat his ass until he shit blood'?"

Scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb, the soldier frowned a little. "Naw, that...that's a new one I must admit."

Not expecting the man to just ignore the threat of an ass kicking, Merle blinked, before speaking again, "you got a name, Cajun?" He demanded.

"They call me Lieutenant."

Sneering at the man, Merle shifted on his feet. "Raised by wolves, huh? That's a damned shame. I'm gonna call you Pete." Turning his eyes on his baby brother, Merle found Daryl still quietly thinking things over. "Alright, fuck it, show us around this nun factory of yours, Pete."


	7. Boo

**spygrrl99 - Oh my, your review made my day. Thank you. I'm glad you think my dialogue is good, I hate writing accents into a story, so I thought maybe the lack of heavily accented dialogue might be a death sentence to this story. Glad it isn't.  
**

**Violeta27 - Mah, I like Merle. Don't know why, the man is an unbearable ass, but maybe it's just that I have a secret crush on Michael Rooker...*blush* Did I admit that outloud? Oh my.  
**

**Axelrocks - Good heavens, your review was a thing of beauty. I'm so glad you enjoy the Lieutenant (and don't feel bad, I like Merle too and think he can be redeemed, not right away obviously but with time). Don't feel guilty about not reviewing, the point is that you finally did and just voicing the fact that this story isn't crap keeps me going. So thanks ever so for that. You are too kind (and your dad may be my hero). ^_^ As for your love of Carol, I agree, I always appreciate underplayed female characters who have nothing to prove. Gee, speaking of rants...  
**

**sammipoop - Ah, so you're the mysterious one, huh? Well, thanks for the support and the kind reviews. Keep on posting those wonderful things over at that place (doesn't want to disclose too much publicly).  
**

**MarionArnold - You and me seem to be the only ones who like Merle. I do think he does actually care for his baby brother, but Merle is Merle, he's gruff and uncouth and doesn't put things nicely.  
**

**ldyjaydin - Thank you for the kind review. I do try to update as often as possible, school does make it hard, but I stock up on chapters on the weekend, in time to post some throughout the week. ^_^  
**

**earthbound68 - Well, thank you kindly. I think you're just aces.  
**

**So I went outside...it's not as big a deal as 'normies' make it seem. There was sun and sky and some guy with an overcoat flashing people. Like I haven't seen pictures of the sky before. Pfft.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Boo**

****The Lieutenant****

Stepping into the main building of the convent after showing the Dixon boys around, the Lieutenant made his way down the long, dim hall, greeted by a wee boo who raced out of a nearby room and launched herself at him.

With the wee boo hanging off his leg like ripe fruit off a peach tree, the Lieutenant slogged his way through the nuns dormitory with the girl still attached to his leg, heading for the Mother Superior's office at the end of the long hall.

"I missed you," the Little Missy chirped, clambering up his side like he was a jungle gym, clinging to his neck like a sloth, hanging down the front of him as he wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her full weight from tearing his head off at the shoulders. "Did you get me a turkey yet?"

"Naw," he replied. "Heard it was his birthday, it's bad luck to kill a bird on his birthday."

Smacking a kiss on his cheek, the wee boo gave him a critical look beyond her years. "You can't catch one, can you?"

"'Course I can, something that ugly can't be smarter than me." He stated, eyeing the little one.

"What about pig's? Aren't they supposed to be smart?"

"Yeah, but I'm smarter than a pig though, right?"

The girl drew her mouth in a straight line and wagged her head side to side. "Um…"

"_P__ossede_," he scolded lightly.

"You need a shave," the girl pointed out. "Mother Superior's going to give you a tongue lashing."

"Naw, she likes me."

"You think?"

Tsking at the girl as they reached the Mother Superior's closed office door, the Lieutenant dropped her gently to the ground, kneeling to address her eye to eye. "You'd better let me see her alone, Boo." He said. "Go help Sister Mary Elizabeth in the kitchen, yeah?"

"Okay." The girl reached up to touch his scratchy dark brown beard and grimaced. "I think it's gross."

"We'll see if I have to time to honour your demands, Princess," he replied. "Now go on."

Watching the wee one skip off, the Lieutenant idly wondered if she'd harp on him forever if he didn't shave. She was worse than a wife some days.

Knocking on the Mother Superior's door, he waited nervously. To be honest with himself, the woman scared him a little. She had only ever asked him to her office twice before and both times he wound up feeling like a little boy in deep trouble.

At her bidding, he opened the door and poked his head inside, before moving his body in completely.

She sat in the chair by her fireplace, reading something, her knees drawn to her chest.

"Sister Gertrude said you were looking for me."

Without even looking up from her book, the woman scowled. "Close the door, Lieutenant, this isn't a barn. Just because society is no longer civil, doesn't mean I want the world to hear our conversation. And leave your gun beside it. You know I can't abide them."

Quietly he closed the door, propping his rifle against the wall beside, before moving to stand before her nervously.

She idly flipped a page in her book, before placing the piece of red ribbon in it and setting it in her lap to look up at him.

"What do you make of those boys you've unleashed in my convent, Lafayette? Are they a threat to the Sisters here?"

"At best I think the big one's a threat to himself if he keeps messing with me, but naw, they're alright. Little rough, uncultured, but…you know Georgian so…"

"I'm from Georgia, Lieutenant," the woman replied dryly.

Nervous and hugely embarrassed, the Cajun turned on his charming grin, hoping to smooth things over. The others were from far and wide, he wasn't expecting the lady with the high born Southern accent to actually be from within the state. If he had to guess, he would have said Tennessee or maybe Missouri, but what did he know? All _Texian's_ sounded alike to him. "And you're just the epitome of a proper Southern Belle, _cher_." He cooed in a thicker accent than normal, hoping to smooth everything over with a little sweet Cajun charm.

There was a long, drawn moment of silence as the Mother Superior studied him with that hard glare of hers.

"She's always on my mind," he added, clearing his throat. "Georgia."

Mother Superior Philomena angled her chin down ever so, still eyeing him coolly.

The Lieutenant dropped his gaze sheepishly and eyed her bare feet for an entire minute before he realized that her feet _were_ bare. He tilted his head and frowned.

Quickly covering her feet with her habit, the Old Missy huffed. "You're responsible for them. I'll not have that big one flirting shamelessly with the Sisters here. The ungodly things he said to Sister Mary Claire will not go over well with me again."

"Of course, I'll keep them in my sights."

"Hn," she opened her book again. "I hear you're planning on leaving us."

"Not for good, ma'am. Only trying to make friends in a godless world."

"Godless?" She inquired, looking up at him sharply. "God is everywhere, don't tell me this world is godless."

Nervously wiping his palms on his thighs, the Lieutenant gave a half quirked grin. "No offense, _cher_, but I haven't seen much of God's work here lately."

"That's enough of that talk, Lieutenant." She stated firmly. "Not here, not under this roof."

"Missy," the Lieutenant began firmly, suddenly very aware of how he was digging his own grave. "You give me one solid line of evidence that God is still with us." Before she could speak, he interrupted. "You can't. All I see outside these walls is death and lost hope. Do you know what a man without hope looks like? I do. Saw it in every soldier's eyes before they split, left their posts, abandoned their mission. God isn't with us anymore, he's given up on us, we're all lost causes clinging to a ghost."

"And that little girl?" The Old Missy asked. "That small creature who turns such hopeful eyes on you, how did she make it to our gate without the hand of God guiding her? She didn't have a single scratch on her, not one. Tell me that isn't a miracle."

"If that is the work of God, then tell me why he saw fit to make her suffer through whatever hell it is that wakes her in the middle of the night screaming." He demanded. "You and I have both seen her eyes when she wakes and they are wild and they're panicked. It's not something any God I'd believe in would show an angel like her to make her shake in the dark of night." He shifted on his feet, voice softening when he realized she didn't look so angry at him, more wistful. He wasn't supposed to be the sort of man who tore apart people's beliefs; hell, his _Mamere_ would have tanned his hide for speaking to anyone about their beliefs the way he just had. "You believe what you want, _cher_. But under this roof, I'm going to keep on believing that God has left us for better things."

Clearing his throat, he eyed the window behind her desk and the tiny sparrow that alighted upon the sill.

"I'll come back to you here," he said, turning his eyes back on the Mother Superior.

She was busy clearing tears from her cheeks, looking for all the world like he had just told her she was going to die.

The Lieutenant had stolen her hope from her and it twisted his guts. He wasn't a cruel man by any nature and the words he said to her, his own theory on the state of the spiritual world wasn't asked for, he shouldn't have given it.

He dropped to one knee at her side and placed his hand on that bare foot she had tried to hide from him. "I…I shouldn't have said that to you, honeychild," he apologized softly, brows puckered, eyes wide. "I'm an idiot ninety-eighty percent of the time, so I'm probably wrong."

She forced a hand to her mouth, looking like she was about to throw up.

"If it's true," she sobbed, "and God has forsaken us—"

"Naw, don't…"

"What do I tell the Sisters of this convent?"

There was a flutter of wings against the window as the sparrow took flight. It was the only sound that broke the moment, everything had fallen still.

It was then that the Lieutenant realized that the Old Missy may have had her own doubts about the spiritual nature of the world around them. That maybe she was going through her own internal struggle.

He had always thought she never once questioned the whole rising of the dead, coming of the apocalypse thing, but she was. She had been this whole time. After all, weren't the righteous supposed to ascend? Wasn't she worried that maybe God had forgotten or abandoned them? His daughters of mercy?

Licking his bottom lip, he realized that the hope she had in her God had actually kept hope in him, that it gave him something to fight for. If she had no hope…what did he have?

Maybe he was hoping her God actually did exist and that he was going to show up at any moment and save them from the horrors outside the walls of the convent. Maybe for as much as he scoffed at the idea of God, he was – deep down – comforted by the thought that the being might prove him wrong eventually.

If the Mother Superior had lost faith, then it meant that there was no hope.

Sniffing then, the woman straightened her spine and closed the book with a snap. "God will provide," she assured him.

Suddenly, the Lieutenant was snapped back into his place by her tone and he dropped his hand from her foot, eyeing her as she collected her senses.

"We will keep surviving until he sees fit to provide us a safe passage into paradise." She stated, touching a hand to the top of his head and running her hand through his hair. "We'll just endure the trials and tribulations to show our faith."

He snapped his gaping maw shut and steeling his jaw, nodded firmly. "'Course we will. Survival is what we do best here, yeah?"

Standing up, he studied the broken woman. If she was any other woman, he would have comforted her physically with a hug or perhaps a kiss to the temple, but he was nervous around nuns, so he awkwardly stuck out a hand and patted the top of her head like a dog. "I'll be back, yeah? You keep to rules about the Little Missy, no going outside for anything and remember to have Sister Joan on night duty."

"Of course."

Spinning on his heel, eager to get away, he was stopped by her voice at the door. Strong as it ever was.

"And shave that beard before you go, Lieutenant," she said. "You look like an unholy fright."

"Top of my to-do list, ma'am."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

End of the world and shaving was a priority.

Scoffing at his orders as he strolled out of the garden shed the next morning (where the nuns had stuffed him the first night he arrived). Rubbing a hand over his smooth jaw and scowled at the dim pink world that existed before the sun rose.

Rounding the corner of the church, he found the two Dixon brothers sitting on the front steps and settled beside them.

"It's going to be hot today," he greeted.

They looked up from what they were doing and eyed him long and hard.

Touching a hand to his smooth jaw, the Lieutenant shifted in his spot. "What?"

"No need to clean yourself up on my account," Merle mocked. "I would have taken you to the prom with or without the beard, Doris."

"_Embrasse mon tcheue_," the Lieutenant replied. "Ready to hit the dusty trail, _Texian_?" He addressed Daryl.

The younger Dixon brother squinted at the grounds around them. "Maybe you should stay here," he suggested. "We might not be back for a few days."

"We're in the middle of nowhere," the Lieutenant pointed out. "Nothing's happened here yet and I doubt anything would happen while I'm gone."

"Don't worry," Merle said. "I'm going with my baby brother, you can stay here and pretty yourself up some more for me."

"Naw, you're both staying," Daryl said pushing to his feet, swinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "I'm better on my own anyways."

"I'm going," the Lieutenant insisted. "Can't stop me. Besides, you think you can dangle this whole mysterious Carol in front of me and not have my interest piqued?"

The youngest Dixon visibly tensed, his spine straightening, his jaw clenching.

At first the Lieutenant was confused, until he glanced over and saw the gears grinding away in Merle's wooden block of a head.

The older Dixon pushed to his feet carefully, mindful of the side his gunshot was on. "Is there a whole other reason you're so eager to track down this group of yours, baby bro?" Merle inquired, moving to step into Daryl's space.

The Lieutenant didn't like the intimidating way the man seemed to loom over his little brother, but kept out of it, hurrying off to gather his things for the journey.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

By the time he returned, the youngest Dixon was waiting at the gate for him, looking as white hot as Satan's microwaved burrito.

Merle stood on the wall besides Sister Joan, gazing out at the world beyond it, his back to them. Father O'Rourke stood a little ways away, eye on the new man, finger on the trigger of his rifle.

"Come on," Daryl grumbled as the Lieutenant arrived.

Quietly, sheepishly, the Cajun followed him out the gate, giving Merle one last worried look.

Father O'Rourke offered to watch over the man, but the Lieutenant still felt bad about leaving. If he wasn't trying to be political in forging allies, he wouldn't be so eager to help Daryl, but as it was it sounded like allies were a necessary thing in the new world.

The two men moved down the dirt road away from the convent in tense silence.

As soon as they were a safe distance, the Lieutenant turned to the pissed off man at his side.

"I'm, uh—"

"Just shut the hell up!" The man snarled, pushing into the Cajun's personal space.

If the Lieutenant hadn't been trained in hand to hand, if he was a lover not a fighter, if his fight or flight had been flight, he would have been afraid. As it was he was concerned. Concerned he may have damaged a bit of the tentative camaraderie that the two of them had built.

"Man, I want you to just shut the fuck up!" Daryl went on, pointing at him with the borrowed Salt. The Lieutenant hadn't asked for it back and the redneck hadn't offered it.

"You don't know shit all about her!" The _petit cabri _went on. "So don't talk about Carol, don't even think about her anymore or I'll stomp your ass into the dirt! Got it?"

Eyeing the knife warily, the Lieutenant nodded. "Yeah, sorry."

"Fuck you." Daryl grunted, dropping his arm, tucking the blade into the belt of his pants.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Boo** - A form of a pet name, like darling or sweetie.


	8. Pischouette

**Surplus Imagination - You're very welcome. Though to be honest, I should be the one thanking you for reviewing. I really do appreciate when people take the time to let me know that my story isn't crap. So thanks. ^_^ And no, to my knowledge the Lieutenant isn't based on anyone in particular. Does he remind you of someone?  
**

**LL - Haha, I like that you've cast the Lieutenant in your mind! It amuses me!  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - In the office...someone needs to be working I think. ^_^ (I keed!) Thanks for the review!  
**

**Axelrocks - I agree with everything you said and more. I enjoy your reviews because they're fun and thorough! Thanks!  
**

**ldyjaydin - I hate unfinished stories, I try to finish them because of this. So have no fear, it may take me a while, but this story will get finished.  
**

**lokislady - Thanks for your review! I'm going to try to keep the quality of writing up to standard!  
**

**Guest - Ugh, summaries and titles are the worst...  
**

**MarionArnold - I have another chapter from Merle's POV coming up soonish, I think I can swing a request from you (since you review this story so kindly and all). ^_^  
**

**Selbyzipper - I'm so glad to hear that Merle and Daryl are in character, I try very hard to keep them that way, but sometimes I worry about whether or not they are. It's good to know this. Thanks.  
**

**laura - Thanks for your review. Good to hear that it's loved.  
**

**Violeta27 - Teehee, tetchy is a beautiful word to describe him.  
**

**Lilone1776 - I do have a scene coming up where Daryl (once he gets a chance to breathe) has a little meeting with the girl. It's nice that you mentioned that, however, because if I didn't I'm always willing to give my reviewer's what they want (within reason). Thanks for your review!  
**

**Goodness, thanks ever so to all the reviewers. I apologize if thanking them makes this first part super long, but they took the time to read and review my work and deserve acknowledgement. I am utterly grateful for the love you people give this story. You have no idea.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Pischouette**

****Daryl****

They had picked up the trail from the prison in silence, moving through the tall grass carefully, mindful of the fact that anywhere inside the thick blades of grass could lurk something that would chomp and infect their asses.

Daryl moved swiftly, one eye on the trail left in the bent grass, the other on the world around him, he barely paid the man behind him any heed.

The soldier boy for his part was quiet, moving with precision training through the grass, senses alert.

As the trail in the grass broke into the woods, Daryl paused to adjust himself from tracking bent grass to shifted leaves and snapped twigs in the underbrush. It wasn't as obvious as the grass, the trail wasn't all that fresh, but it was still there.

If Carol headed this way, then he knew she'd be heading deeper into the woods, avoiding the highway at all costs in case the Governor had patrols out looking for them.

He turned sharply and headed East, following the creek there.

As they walked along the creek, he noticed the trail had an interesting drag pattern to it. Herschel has been this way as well, his crutch leaving a fast paced drag to the left of the trail.

At least Carol wasn't alone with Judith.

Pausing at a log in the middle of the trail, Daryl knelt to eye the bark, looking for signs of them struggling over it.

Sure enough bark had been torn off it, and the very faint outline of a boot was imprinted on it.

Hopping over the log, he moved on, stepping beside the footprints in case he needed to double back and follow the trail again.

The Lieutenant did the same, quietly moving behind him.

A snapping, crashing sound came from the south, something moving through the woods without any hesitation, had the two of them hunkering down, tensing for a fight.

A decayed princess staggered out of the underbrush, her pretty wedding dress covered in blood from where a walker had gnawed on her upper arm.

She moved towards them with her teeth snapping for their flesh.

Daryl took aim and shot her down, before he realized she wasn't alone.

Another thing came out from the woods, lumbering towards them.

He dropped his crossbow and lunged forward with his borrowed knife, catching the walker under the chin, shoving the blade up through his tongue and palate into the brain.

The Lieutenant meanwhile took out a third who was about to knock into Daryl from the right, launching himself at it, tackling the dead thing to the ground and shoving a small kitchen knife through it's temple.

They quickly looked around, before pushing to their feet.

"Think there's any more of them around?" The Lieutenant asked.

Daryl nodded, cautiously studying their surroundings. "They move in herds, could be. Sisters know you stole a knife from the kitchen?"

The Lieutenant smirked. "I'm probably going to hell anyways, why not add stealing to the list? Wish it were something more worth the trip to Hades though...a car or a head in a jar or something..."

Ignoring the weird fucking Cajun, Daryl motioned back to the trail.

After the attack, they moved slower, more aware of the woods around them.

It felt like they had been travelling for months, before the trail began to waver, someone had split off from the trail and the others seemed to get jumbled up at that point, the tracks intermingling and bunching up.

Not sure which trail to follow, Daryl stopped and glanced around.

"Someone broke off," he muttered more to himself than the Lieutenant. Still, he glanced behind him at the soldier. "Headed towards the creek, the others just sort of stood their ground."

"Uggie attack?"

He nodded. "Could be. Come on, they head in the same direction, may as well follow the group trail."

Heading North, closer to the creek, they paused when they hit the water.

_Jesus, Carol,_ he thought_, don't take to the water, girl. Can't follow you through it._

Thankfully, he spied tracks emerging from the creek on the same side a few yards down and hurried over to them.

There were three distinct tracks, he knew two of them were Carol's and Herschel's the third he was guessing was Beth's. She didn't go far from Herschel's side.

The tracks moved off, heading East again, moving along the soft, muddy shores of the creek bed. This was fine, easier to track muddy footprints then snapped twigs, it would speed up their trek.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

By the time evening was upon them, they came across an old hunting cabin in the middle of the woods.

Peering at it through the thick of the underbrush, Daryl spied about twenty walkers milling about outside, a few scattered dead around it. Someone was in the cabin, he just knew it. The walkers wouldn't be lingering unless they could still smell or sense something living. The fact that they weren't beating on the door was disturbing to him, however. If the walkers sensed living flesh, they wouldn't stop at anything until they got at it, them milling around aimlessly, wasn't a good sign.

Nervously casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure none were creeping up on him, he motioned to the Lieutenant to head up into a nearby tree, holding his curled hand to his eye in a military gesture Rick had taught him over the winter when the group was training to work better together. He wanted the Lieutenant to do what he did best and snipe off the walkers.

The Lieutenant gave him the okay and scurried up the tree like a squirrel with his Browning and the duct taped scope that was worth more than the damned rifle itself.

Gripping the combat knife in his hand, Daryl prepared to attack. He wasn't sure he could take twenty or however many more there may be lingering nearby, but he wasn't any better prepared, so he figured he may as well die trying.

Looking up into the tree, he caught the Lieutenant's eye and nodded, giving him the go-ahead.

The soldier wasted no time, raising the rifle to his shoulder, eyeing the walkers through the scope with narrowed eyes. With the long fingered caress of the trigger, he fired the gun, picking off the nearest walker and pulling the bolt handle to fire off another round.

Daryl leapt into action, making sure he danced just out of reach of the walkers as they neared, hoping the Lieutenant had his back enough to take them out before they got at him.

He stabbed and sliced and fought his damnedest, taking down as many of the fuckers as he could when they neared him, whether it was long enough to dance out of reach or permanent.

At one point a walker grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him backwards, sending him onto his ass, Daryl kicked up with his feet, sending it back before it could pin him, but two more were on him.

One was taken down with the crack of a gunshot and Daryl managed to break the other walker's leg, dropping it long enough for him to jump up and stab it through the eye.

In the tree, the gunshots halted and Daryl spun around, panicked that the Lieutenant had been snagged, instead he found the Lieutenant loading his rifle, quickly and with the eerie composure of a fucking psychopath.

Turning back on the walkers, he found only five or so remained, moving from around the cabin, racing towards them.

One dropped after the sharp crack of a gunshot before he reached Daryl's location and he pulled his crossbow off his shoulder to take down one more, leaving him with three dragging their asses towards him.

Another one dropped, then another and before he could reach them the last one dropped as well.

Still crouched in attack mode, Daryl looked around madly, shocked and worried that it hadn't been much of a fight.

Finding the cabin clearing empty, he held up a finger and twirled it, ordering the Lieutenant to rally.

The soldier dropped out of the tree and approached him, grinning widely.

"I didn't think you could do it, _couyon_," he greeted. "Holy hell and all the saints," he went on, looking about at the slaughtered dead that lay scattered around the clearing.

"Nearly got my damned arm tore off," Daryl complained. "Come on."

Approaching the front door to the cabin, Daryl pushed back his theory of why the walkers weren't wetting themselves over getting at anyone alive in the cabin and cautiously turned the handle of the door.

The smell of rot overwhelmed him, pluming out from the interior of the cabin and he almost didn't want to push inside, lest he throw up in front of the weird Cajun, but he held the back of his hand to his nose and stepped inside.

There were about six or seven dead walkers scattered around the room, the scent must have convinced the walkers outside that there wasn't anything worth anything in the cabin.

Daryl's eyes darted about the inside, there were cupboards hanging open, cans scattered from them, leading to a trapdoor that was notched into the floor.

Slowly, he reloaded his crossbow and approached the trapdoor, ready for anything.

He motioned for the Cajun to open the door and the soldier knelt, rifle at ready.

Carefully the Cajun hooked his rifle barrel into the notch and yanked the door wide open, backing away with his rifle raised.

Peering into the dark hole, Daryl wasn't sure what to do, bursting into a room was one thing, but hopping down a shaky ladder into a dark root cellar was another.

"Anyone down there?" The Cajun called out, somehow sensing Daryl's apprehension.

There was no response.

Licking his bottom lip, the soldier tried again. "If you're from the prison, I'm on your side."

Daryl frowned, that sounded like something one of the Governor's boys would say. "Carol?" He tried. "Come on out, woman. I ain't fooling around."

In the shaft of dim light that was cast into the bottom of the blackness, an arm came, holding a pistol, then a face. Big blue eyes staring up at him, blinking against the light.

He nearly dropped to his knees, but managed to hold it together.

"What the hell are you doing down there?" He demanded, trying hard to sound gruff.

Carol beamed her bright, angelic grin at him and launched herself up the ladder.

She looked rough, but alive, still beaming broadly at him. "Took your time," she teased.

God, the woman had a way of looking far too fucking sunny during the end of the world, covered in blood and guts and dirt and grime as she was.

As she moved too close to him, he backed away ever so and cleared his throat, avoiding what he was sure was going to be a hug of sorts.

She stopped herself and turned her bright smile on the Lieutenant, before lowering herself to the hole. "It's okay, it's Daryl!" She called out.

Carefully Herschel entered into the light, followed by Beth holding Judith, they all looked dirty and tired, but alive.

Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and knelt at the hole for Judith to be passed up to him.

Once the little thing was in his arms, he felt himself smile. He never smiled, but the Little Asskicker did that to him.

The tiny thing flailed an arm at him and he caught it in a rough hand. "Hey, Little Asskicker, been busy I see." He greeted.

Beside him the Lieutenant sidled up and smiled. "I heard a lot about you, _pischouette_." He cooed.

Everyone flocked around him, questions were thrown at Daryl, but he shrugged them off for a moment, just reveling in the fact that hope hadn't kicked his balls this time.

"We better move," the Lieutenant observed. "Gunshots might have attracted some of the uggies our way."

Daryl glanced out the open door. "It's getting dark, we'll take our chances here tonight. How's she on formula?" He asked Carol.

"She'll be good for one more night."

"What about you? Water? Food? Ammo?"

"Had plenty of canned goods," Beth said. "Water's running low, ammo's out. Have you found Maggie yet?"

Daryl shook his head. "Naw, but I will."

Beth huddled in close to her father at the lack of news on her sister, but held it together bravely.

Herschel eyed the Cajun warily over the top of his daughter's head. "Hello, son," he said.

"Heya," he returned.

"That's the Lieutenant, he's on our side." Daryl pointed out. Smiling down at Judith again, he handed her off to Carol. "I have something for you," he said to the baby, moving to the Lieutenant to pull that bright pink blanket out of his pack. "Keep you warm."

Carol helped him remove her ragged sweater from around the baby, wrapping her up in her soft, warm blanket once more.

Running a hand over her soft, baby fine hair, Daryl nodded. "Pink's girly for a Little Asskicker like you, but it's better than nothing."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

They hunkered down in the cabin for the night after the Lieutenant and Daryl cleared out the walkers, leaving them outside to ward off any others who might come wandering by.

With Herschel and Daryl keeping watch at the windows, Carol, Beth and the Lieutenant all huddled around Judith, ready to keep her entertained in case she started bawling. Daryl was sure they were just doting on the little thing, it only took one person to keep a baby entertained.

Keeping one eye on the outside world through the little crack in the curtain and one on the woman holding the baby, Daryl smiled a small, cat-like smile. He was proud that she kept it together enough to survive the amount of the walkers that had swarmed the cabin. She had come a long way from the mousy thing that used to hang her head, avoid eye contact and just do what she was told.

He didn't feel one ounce of remorse for the loss of her husband.

But.

But he still felt sick at the thought of the loss of her baby girl.

It was something he tried not to think about anymore, but there was only so much a man could ignore.

Daryl nearly launched his elbow backwards when a small hand touched his bicep, he tensed ready to do so, until he realized the hand belonged to her.

He relaxed, allowing her hand to linger on his arm. If she were anyone else, they would have had a broken nose.

Carol had Judith in her other arm and was all soft smiles and womanly warmth. "When Rick came back from Woodbury without you, he didn't say you were dead. So I knew you'd find us, tried to make as much of a trail as I could. Didn't think until halfway here to take to the creek bed where the ground is softer."

Daryl winced, keeping his eye on the outside world. "You did good." He stated. "How do you know I didn't take off with Merle though?"

"I just knew."

"Don't be so smug," he replied.

Releasing his arm, Carol pressed her back against the wall beside the window and eyed the group. "The Lieutenant seems nice."

"He's a pain in my ass, won't shut up for nothing." Daryl grunted. "Can't even understand his dumb Cajun ass half the time."

Turning away from his watch long enough to study Carol's face, to put every inch of it into memory, Daryl found himself leaning in a little towards her hoping to catalog her scent as well. He had never smelled her before and as odd as it seemed to him (which was very fucking odd) he wanted to know her scent.

She turned to face him and he pulled back quickly, turning his eyes back to the outside world.

"We have a long walk tomorrow back to the convent," he said. "Best get some sleep."

"Okay," she replied. "How about a kiss?"

Daryl tensed instantly. "What?"

"For Judith? A goodnight kiss?" Carol's eyes twinkled.

The woman was fooling with him again.

"Everybody gives a baby a goodnight kiss on the forehead," Carol insisted with a small, cheeky smirk.

Daryl hesitated, glancing at the others, especially that fucking Cajun, before eyeing the baby in Carol's arms. He took one last cautious glance at the soldier boy, before darting his head down and pressing a kiss to Little Asskicker's forehead.

He straightened as if nothing happened and glared at the outside world, waiting for Carol to wander off.

Only when he glanced around at the others one last time, did he notice the Lieutenant smiling like a cat who ate the canary, his eyes on Beth as she told him all about the prison raid. But Daryl knew the asshole was smiling about the kiss.

Somehow he just fucking knew.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**I've already covered this one, but here's a friendly reminder.**

**Pischouette** - A runt or a little person (feminine form).


	9. Paillasse

**KrisAnthemum221 - I'm so glad you found easy rest, I didn't know this story was riding hard on your nerves, friend. Thanks for the review!  
**

**Axelrocks - I agree that Carol was kicking ass, somewhere between season 2 and 3 she got a little of the bad ass in her, but convincingly so. None of this suddenly she's an Annie Oakley of the zombie world crap. It's why I assumed she was out of ammo on a 9mm and only killed about seven walkers. She probably had a few misses.  
**

**Lilone1776 - I hope Rick, Glenn and Maggie made it too, they're some of my favourite fictional characters...we'll have to see what happens in chapters to come...^_^  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Oh ho! Putting a little Cajun spin on your review! Love it! XD  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - Are...are you me? We share so many of the same thoughts when it comes to the show. And no, the Mother Superior isn't based on Dame Maggie Smith (although that made me laugh hard). I'm glad you brought that up, when it comes to Daryl reverting back to Season 1 & 2 Daryl, I figured Carol and the other's softened him a little, so without them he'd kind of go back to being rough. You're so observant! Thanks a million for the reviews.  
**

**MarionArnold - I know, I wrote the heads in a jar thing, then posted the update then thought, 'oh no people will think the Lt. is involved with the Governor or something' glad to know you don't see it. Did not mean it that way. Of course now you know it'll come back hilariously later on.  
**

**You reviewers are some of my favourite people. You shy readers are some of my favourite people. A hundred thousand points to all of you. ****(But this is like Whose Line and the points don't really matter...)****  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: P****aillasse **  


****Carol****

For the first time in five long days Carol slept soundly.

She knew they were finally safe.

Daryl was on watch, he wouldn't let anything happen.

He was like that. Reliable, dutiful, strong.

Knocking from sleep gently, she realized someone was lingering over her and jumped in fright, sitting up with the pistol drawn. Around her the cabin was in pitch darkness, the moon wasn't out and there wasn't a star in the sky.

"Easy, woman," Daryl growled. "Damn thing ain't loaded, but you could still take out an eye."

She nodded, suddenly at ease.

Settling on the floor beside the worn chair, Daryl leaned back against it.

"Get back to sleep," he muttered.

Curling back up like a house cat, she peered through the absolute darkness, trying in vain to see forms among the shadows.

"Where's your friend?" She asked sleepily.

"He ain't my friend," Daryl returned. "And he's over by the window on watch."

They were both quiet, Carol nodding off.

"What happened?" Daryl asked finally, waking her again.

"The Governor showed up, started firing, gunfight happened," she replied. "I don't know, really. Rick told us to run and we did. I grabbed Judith's diaper bag and we tore out of there. Thankfully there were a few bottles of water and the pistol in the bag. They got Axel on our way out, thought they were coming after us, but…I guess the walkers stopped them. What about you? You okay?"

"Peachy." He replied. "Go to sleep."

"You'll find the others, I know it." She said softly, closing her eyes against the night.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

She woke only an hour later when Judith began to bawl for her bottle.

They had been giving her cold formula, not that it was good for her, but it was the best they could do with what they had. The problems had come when they ran out of diapers and had to resort to creeping up into the cabin at night for scrap cloth and a few pins to use. Carol couldn't find safety pins, so she was forced to use two buttons, one that said 'ain't no fun when the rabbits get the gun' and the other was for a gun convention.

Beth was already on her feet, scooping up the baby from the drawer they had put her in to keep her from rolling around on the floor.

Herschel was already mixing a fresh batch of formula with the last of their bottled water, while Daryl and the Cajun fellow looked on quietly. Daryl pushed to his feet to cover Herschel's window, sitting on the kitchen counter to peer out the window over the sink quietly.

Carol cooed at Judith as Beth handed her off, too tired to barely hold her.

Hugging the tiny thing to her chest, she rubbed Judith's little belly, making a silly little purring sound that had actually helped with Sophia when she was teething.

At the window, the tall, lean Cajun with the plain face, scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb and Carol smiled at him when she caught his eye.

"Sorry, she'll be quiet soon."

"Aw, naw, it's not that, _beau ange_," he replied softly. "Just never been around babies much."

"Never had kids of your own?" She asked, taking the bottle from Herschel with a distracted smile and thanks, heading over to stand at the man's side. Good Lord he towered two heads higher than her and had to bow his chin to his chest just to peer down at her. "No wife?" She went on.

Despite being so tall, he wasn't broad or overly large. In fact he was quite fine boned, with boyish hips and wide shoulders. His face had a gauntness to it that reminded her of Rick's as of late, too many missed meals and sleepless nights, she supposed.

"Naw, my _Mamere_ once said the only things that could stand me long enough were the gators in the swamp," he replied with a crooked grin. "'Course she had gotten into the brandy wine that night…"

Carol furrowed her brow at the man, not sure if he was being serious.

Glancing over at Daryl, the Cajun leaned in a little closer. "I'm sure glad we found you," he said.

Cooing to Judith who was downing the formula like a drainpipe, Carol smiled. She was never so grateful to have a baby in her arms that wasn't fussy then she had been the past few days with Judith. "I wanted to thank you," she said softly, peering over at Daryl across the cabin, "for helping Daryl out."

"Aw, truth is I kind of like him. He swears a lot, but…he seems like the sort you'd want at your back in these troubled times."

"Don't abide swearing?" Carol asked.

"_Cher_, when I drop the F-bomb I want it to make a global impact, that boy uses it to carpet bomb my senses." He shifted on his feet, peering out the window, keeping an eye on the yard. "But there are worse habits a man can have." Glancing at her, he seemed to hesitate, before speaking, "what about you? Family?"

"I had one once," she said. "Husband and a little girl."

Feeling the Cajun's eyes on her, Carol shrunk in on herself, eyeing Judith as though the little one held all the answers to why the world had turned on its head the way it had.

"I knew a girl once," he began, "named Dolly."

Looking up and over at the man, Carol gave him her undivided attention.

"I went to school with her. She was a plain thing, kind of just on the side of pretty, buck teeth, straw-like brown hair, could never keep her skirt clean of grass and dirt. By the time we were eight, she had hit a growth spurt, shot up with these coltish, awkward looking legs and knobby little knees.

Her whole life, her brothers and daddy used to always call her 'ugly' and it leaked into the schoolyard a bit. The kids used to throw mud and pebbles at her. They used to call her scarecrow, things like that.

One day, I was racing toads with Jackford Brisbois, when she tucked herself under the slide nearby.

Jackford said he'd give me a dollar if I went over there and kicked dirt on her and called her '_paillasse_'. Now, I wasn't a mean kid, my _Mamere_ would have tanned my ass if she ever knew I was being a rude little thing, so I hesitated. I didn't know Dolly personally. I just knew that she was the class whipping girl. She was quiet and didn't ever bother no one. Just kept to herself.

But a dollar, well to an eight year old, a dollar was Fort Knox. So I pushed to my feet, marched over to where the poor thing had hidden herself and with the only thought in my head being that pretty greenback, I kicked a whole pile of dirt and rocks on her and I suppose I'd be lying if I said I didn't call her 'dog-face' and then laughed about it.

The other kids stopped playing long enough to join in calling her '_paillasse_' and she scurried off, heading for the other side of the school.

I took my dollar like a callous little bastard, and headed home that night proud of my first paycheck.

The next day Jojo Pimms said he'd give me a shiny new switchblade knife if I pushed Dolly into the mud. But something didn't settle in me right.

You see, all night I tossed and turned in my bed, the moon was out and shining through my window and I swore I could hear that girl crying on the wind.

I don't know, maybe it was just my conscience telling me I was a little asshole. But I couldn't take the knife or the challenge, just the thought of it made me sick. I just ignored the offer, so Jojo pushed me backwards into the mud and called me 'shitty-pants'. Everybody started calling me that. They turned it into a schoolyard chant."

The man paused, eyeing the yard, giving Carol a chance to adjust Judith in her arms.

"Suppose that's what you'd call karma," he said. "Didn't matter, I deserved worse for what I did to that poor girl.

A year later, Jenny Eames said she heard from Mrs. Pinchot that Dolly's daddy was caught with his hand up her skirt. People said she was put in a home all the way in Baton Rouge after that. The sweetest little thing was being abused at home and then would go to school only to be abused by me and others like me.

To this day I'd give anything to know that she found peace. I like to think she grew up to be happy, maybe smarter than my dumb ass. That she went on to make herself a happy life in a happy home. But, life isn't perfect. It's not a world that I'd want someone as sweet as Dolly living in, before or after all this. I just hope she's not out there, walking around drooling like these uggies, the poor girl deserves a rest from her torment."

Leaning his shoulder against the wall by the window, the Lieutenant smirked at her. "You look tired, _beau ange_." He said. "Get some rest, yeah?"

Carol hesitated, shifting Judith in her arms so that she could lean her back against the wall opposite the window from him.

"I lost my little girl in the woods," Carol said softly. "Wasn't looking out for her like I should have been. I was too busy eyeing clothes that Ed never let me wear to watch her and she just…was gone. Maybe that's karma, God taking my little girl for me being so self-absorbed. For praying her daddy would die for what he did to us."

The tall man shifted on his feet, sighing. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said softly.

"Not as sorry as I was when we found her," she replied. Deciding to call it a night before she could beat herself up more than needed, she bowed her head quickly, hiding her misty eyes. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

"Goodnight, _ange_." He returned.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

"You going to sleep all day or what?"

Daryl's voice snapped her awake and she bolted upright.

The gruff man knelt beside the chair she was sleeping in, eyeing her quietly, an odd look in his smoky blue eyes, a bunch of crisp white sheets in his hands.

"Sorry," she said in a voice thick with sleep.

"It's alright," he said as apologetic as a Dixon could sound. "Just didn't want to waste prime daylight hours." He seemed to reconsider something for a moment, before speaking again, thrusting the sheets at her. "I tore some sheets up, made a baby wrap for you to use for Judith. Might make it easier to make the journey with her if you could have free hands."

She eyed the sheets. "I wouldn't know how to…"

"We'll figure it out, saw some pictures of Indian women using them, should be able to get it working right."

Looking up when the door opened, Carol found the Lieutenant stepping in from the sunshine, holding onto a spade and an axe, both looked well used.

"I found these," he addressed Daryl. "Better than nothing."

Pushing to his feet, Daryl eyed the tools and nodded. "Herschel's only got one hand and lost one of his crutches, figured he could use that kitchen knife you stole in his free hand."

"Stole makes it sound like I have no morals, _Texian_," the Cajun mocked with a grin. "I prefer purloined, sounds classier. But if the Old Missy asks, I borrowed it and have every intention of replacing it with one of equal or greater value, yeah? Damned woman makes the_ misere _over her kitchenware."

Hobbling over, Herschel took the offered knife out of the Lieutenant's hand. "Thank you, son."

"Carol's going to have Judith, so we'll need to cover her." Daryl pointed out.

"My hand's will be free," she objected, standing up from the chair.

"You'll be covered," Daryl insisted.

"I'll take the spade," the Lieutenant said, hefting the thing in his hand. "If the little lady wants the axe."

Beth took the axe.

"Think you can swing that when it counts?" The Cajun asked her.

She hefted the weight of the thing, mimicking what he had done with the spade. "I think so."

Crouching to scoop up Judith, Carol cooed to the little thing, regretfully waking her in order to get her into the wrap.

Daryl helped her, wrapping and unwrapping it a few times, before he stepped back content enough with the job, giving it a few experimental tugs to ensure it was secure around both Carol and the baby.

He nodded firmly to her. "Think that should work, how's it feel?"

"Good. I think it's secure."

"Ready?"

She looked around, checking that they weren't forgetting anything that could be useful to them. "I think so."

Moving to the door to stand by the Lieutenant, Daryl turned again to address them. "We'll move in formation, the Cajun will take point, I'll take rear. Anything happens, if we get separated, you find a tree, climb into it and wait, I'll find you," this was spoken directly to Carol.

She nodded.

"Let's go."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Beau ange** - Beautiful Angel

**Paillasse - **Scarecrow**  
**

**To make the _misere_ or to give the _misere_** - To cause or give trouble.


	10. Merde

**KrisAnthemum221 - You're very welcome!  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Never thought of it like that, but I suppose he could be. Who knows what goes on inside Daryl's head. ^_^  
**

**Axelrocks - You wondered what Ol' Merle was doing, now you get a chapter telling you! Enjoy!  
**

**crystal2817 - Thanks! I'm glad you do!  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - Sometimes I worry that my stories drag because I enjoy more character centered pieces than plot centered. Good to know it's not.  
**

**MarionArnold - Haha! Herschel is the cutest old man! I loved him in CSI and I love him in TWD. He really does look like Santa Claus with that beard though...  
**

**Sira1 - You're welcome! Such polite reviewers I have...^_^  
**

**Warning, Merle is a bit of a racist and homophobic dick in this chapter, just a wee bit, but any hatred towards people sticks in my craw hard. So just know that his views and opinions are not my own. And that racism and homophobia are not cool. And that Merle is a dick.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Merde**

****Merle****

He had sullenly sat his ass on the wall near one of the nuns for an entire day racking his brain. Trying, straining to recall which one was Carol.

If he hadn't been so fucked up on coke during the entirety of the quarry stay, he would have been able to put a face to the name.

His baby brother, the sweet one, didn't say in certain terms whether what that Cajun dick had said meant anything by that Carol comment, but somehow Merle knew his brother well enough to know when something was stuck in his craw.

Touching a stumped hand to his gunshot wound, he tried to rub it without scratching, but it didn't seem to satisfy the irritation.

"You there, on my wall," a posh voice called up to him.

Twisting in his spot, Merle glanced down at a woman in a habit, who stared up at him quietly.

He sneered. "What?"

"Are you ever going to come down so I can meet you properly? Or have you the manners of an alley cat?"

Merle angled his head. Who the hell did this woman think she was? He nearly ignored her and turned back, but something told him she wouldn't give up, so he waited a few more seconds just to be stubborn, before hopping off the wall and landing before her.

Straightening his spine from the fall, he swallowed the grimace of pain the jump had given his bruised ribs and peered down at the nun.

She looked like a doll, with fine boned features and a soft, pink mouth that was pulled into a strict line.

"That's much better, don't you think?" She greeted.

"Not much," he replied.

"My name is Mother Superior Philomena, you are?"

"Merle Dixon."

"And what, pray tell, are you doing sitting up on my wall, Mr. Dixon?" She demanded.

"Free country," he grunted, amusing himself with the thought that it was a lot freer now.

"You surely can't be healed one hundred percent so quickly," she said.

"What can I say, Sister? I guess God favours my sorry ass and gave me an early Christmas miracle." He lied.

She looked him up and down. "Good Heavens, you look like you slept with a bunch of wild hogs, when was the last time you had a bath?"

"Are you offering, Sister?" He inquired.

She blinked. "I am. Follow me."

Turning the little thing scurried off across the lawns.

Merle paused, confused. Was he about to get a bath from a nun? Did he even want a bath from a nun? He thought about it.

Maybe.

He followed her, catching up easily to stride alongside the tiny thing. "You bath men often, Sister?" He teased.

"Only the really dirty ones," she replied simply, hiking up the voluminous skirts of her habit to move swifter over the lawns. "Are you a good man at heart, Mr. Dixon?"

"You mean do I love Jesus? Don't know. Am I a bastard son of a bastard son? Probably. Not a lot of good to anyone," he said, holding up the stump of his hand. "Mean as a snake and probably just as good looking. But I don't much care."

She glanced at him. "In my experience snakes are only as mean as the way they were raised. You try to touch a wild snake, of course it's going to strike because it's been raised wild, but you try to touch a domesticated snake and they're just like kittens." Pulling open the door to the main building, she held it for him. "Of course, there are those who can charm snakes of all kinds. Wild or not."

Pausing, Merle eyed the woman. "Are you trying to tell me you're a snake charmer, Sister?"

Her face remained passive, but a smile jumped into her eyes. "My daddy was. A Southern Baptist snake handler, can you believe that?"

"Baptist, huh?" Merle demanded, eyeing her Roman Catholic habit.

The nun smiled a little then. "Mr. Dixon, we are all God's children," her eyes drifted over him, "though some of us are wilder than others." She followed him into the building, taking the lead again. "Did you know that the snake is a creature that exists throughout many myths across many religions? Often it's depicted as evil, but the voodoo religion actually believes a child touched by a snake is charmed and destined to live life as a priest or a priestess?"

"We talking baths or snakes, because you've lost me, Sister." Merle growled.

She yanked open a door once they twisted through a few halls and motioned him inside, where a tub sat, beside it a young nun was adding the last of a large kettle of boiling water to it.

"Feel free to clean up properly," the nun at his side said. "And let's hope there's a human being under all that dirt and scruff."

Gaping after the two nuns as they scurried out, Merle scowled and touched a hand to his jaw. He was sure he wasn't that offensive to the eye, but then again what did he know, he never cared much to preen like some men.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

Sitting outside on the church step later that evening, fresh and clean as a newborn, he rubbed a hand over his smooth jaw.

There was a disposable razor and shaving cream placed on top of a pile of clean towels and he was sure the nuns put them there to be used.

Eyeing the priest who had barely let him out of his sight, save for space enough to allow him a bath in peace, Merle scowled. He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch the man in the puss or just let him leer at him for the remainder of his hellish time behind the convent walls.

He decided in the long run it wasn't worth punching the man. Merle could easily ignore the fucker.

Leaning his elbows on his knees, he allowed his hands to dangle between his legs as he plotted his escape from the convent. He'd need to steal a weapon of some kind, then he'd be golden.

He'd just go. Daryl didn't need him around, the little son of a bitch had his group, seemed like he wasn't going to leave anyways. Merle was fine on his own. He did good from Atlanta on his own with one hand and a nasty infection setting in the stump, he'd do fine anywhere but here.

Eyeing the nun on the wall, he noticed she paused in pacing back and forth, eyeing the other side, before raising the rifle in her hands, peering down the scope.

Merle pushed to his feet and approached, the priest doing the same once he noticed Merle getting excited. Dashing the last few yards to the wall, Merle grit his teeth, ignoring the pain that seemed to rattle through his entire body as he launched himself at the tall wall, grappling himself up beside the nun.

He spied a handful of walkers heading towards the convent up the dirt road.

"I've never seen this many before," the nun remarked.

Leaping onto the wall on the other side of her, having a harder time than Merle in getting up top, the priest eyed the herd as well. "The Lieutenant said to never fire on a group that size. We'll have to duck inside and hope they pass in peace."

Merle glared at the man. His baby bro was out there, could be heading up that road any minute, he wasn't about to just let those ugly bastards down there fall upon Daryl. Merle may have been a cold-hearted son of a whore, but he wasn't going to let his baby brother just walk into a walker trap.

"You got a knife on you, Pops?" He demanded.

The priest seemed to hesitate, narrowing his eyes at Merle suspiciously.

The nun at his side pushed aside a fold of her habit and pulled a mean looking buck knife out of her belt, handing it to him.

Merle looked the tall, gangly woman up and down for a moment. "I like you," he pointed out gruffly, before leaping off the wall, moving towards the walkers.

There were enough that he was sure he'd probably be feasted on, but all he really thought of was Daryl and that dumb asses 'hope'.

Sensing fresh food, the walkers seemed to wake from their sluggish march and the five or six of them began to pound the ground, lumbering clumsily towards him.

Merle kicked the first one who came near in the chest, sending them back, two others fell upon him, but he swiftly danced backwards, just out of reach.

A black blur tackled one to the ground and the priest landed hard in the dirt with a walker, shoving a little pocket knife through the dead thing's eye socket.

Merle, meanwhile sliced the buck knife into the top of a short one's skull, shoving it forcefully at another.

Feeling something tugging him backwards, he spun around, only to find that nun from the wall bashing the walker who had got a hold of him with the butt of her rifle, knocking it down, where she proceeded to bash the hell out of its brains.

The three of them managed to take out the small herd, without a single shot fired and at the end of it all, Merle glanced around to find the priest kneeling at the side of the bodies, muttering some kind of foreign language over them.

He glanced over at the nun, who was quietly eyeing the blood and gore that coated the hem of her habit.

Flipping up the knife, he caught it by the blade carefully and held it out to her handle first. "Thanks, Sister."

She eyed it quietly.

Glancing at the blood covered knife, Merle quickly flipped it again to grab hold of the handle, wiping the blood off on his pants, before repeating the motion, offering her a clean knife.

She took it.

"Which one are you again?" He demanded as they watched over the priest who continued to pray or whatever it was he was doing over the corpses.

"Sister Joan," she said.

Merle nodded. "Your knife is duller than a crack whore's sense of humour." He pointed out.

She tucked it back where it came from, brown eyes darting across the landscape, her other hand dropping the blood soaked hem.

"Better drag them carcasses off, before they begin to stink up the place," he pointed out.

She nodded.

Eyeing the woman, Merle laughed mockingly. "Never got dirty before, huh?" He inquired. "First timers always get the shakes."

"I'm not scared," she said. "I'm disgusted."

"Well, that's a first, like the kill, huh?"

She bowed her head. "Of course not, these were once God's creation."

"They still are," Merle pointed out, turning to face the priest. "You almost done, Pops? I have to take a piss."

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

Sitting in the infirmary the next morning, Merle pondered the whole situation.

He knew talking about just up and leaving Daryl was easier said than done, he never would really do it. The little princess needed him to watch his ass. Who else could better watch it than Merle?

Carol? He mulled the name over in his head, struggling through a hazy memory for a face.

She wasn't that black woman, was she? Naw, Merle raised Daryl better than to go for black cooch.

Couldn't have been blondie, that woman was trouble and every one with half a brain knew it. She seemed like the type who'd suck the spirit out of a man just to keep her own ass safe and secure. In spite of knowing she was trouble, it didn't stop Merle at all from having blonde visions while he yanked it at night. The woman was created just for riding.

Carol…the name was oddly irritating. Like Merle should know who she…

Suddenly a memory came through the fog, a tubby bastard who smoked away kicking a bucket of water over onto a pile of blankets and coolly telling a woman with short hair to get another from the quarry lake, down the steep incline.

He couldn't recall anything else about the memory, but that woman…Carol.

Merle scoffed. His baby brother was a fucked up little asshole, wasn't he? Chasing after married women. Or maybe he already had her? Hell if any woman could resist a Dixon once the charm was turned on high.

Of course, Daryl never had the sort of smooth charm Merle could be known to possess. Daryl always seemed…well to be honest, Merle often thought the man was queer as a squid in Arizona. Good to know his baby brother wasn't a homo.

Eyeing his boots, knowing he'd have to get them on and secure enough that he wasn't tripping over the laces every time he took a step, Merle sighed.

Fucking Officer Friendly and his fucking idea of 'restraint'. Fuck him and that pansy assed group. The assholes could suck his nutsack without ketchup for all he cared.

The door open cautiously and that tall, homely nun from the wall the other night peeked in.

"May I have a word?" She asked.

He sneered at her. "Why?"

Stepping into the infirmary, she approached his cot. "You said my knife was dull, I thought you could show me how to sharpen it."

Merle slid his feet into his boots and placed them on the bed neatly. "I'll do you a favour if you do me one, Sister." He stated, motioning to his boots.

She eyed them for a moment, before looking at Merle.

He smiled and held up his stump. "Kind of at an inconvenient moment in my life, Sister."

Easing onto the bed at the foot, she quietly tied the boots up.

Merle eyed her. She wasn't so homely that he wouldn't brush her aside, but she really wasn't much to look at. Beak-like nose, thin lips, pale cheeks, a small dimple to her sharply pointed chin.

Still, her tits looked like a handful under that black dress of hers and since she was tall, he liked to think her legs went all the way up.

Realizing that a fucking ugly assed nun was getting him hard, Merle shifted on the bed and sighed.

Finishing with his laces, the woman stood up again, clasping her hands before her.

He stared at her as she gazed back quietly.

"Well?" He snapped.

"The knife?" She reminded him calmly.

"Do you have anything to sharpen it with?"

"Such as?"

Merle sighed again. "Find me a fucking rock," he stated. "Make sure it's flat and rough."

The woman nodded.

"And find me something to gnaw on while you're out and about, hot lips." He commanded. "I'm getting hungry and it's pissing me off a little."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Merde** - (Do I really need to translate this one?) Shit...it means shit.


	11. Honneur

**Surplus Imagination - It's funny you mention the wine...there will come a time when the wine gets discovered...  
**

**Violeta27 - Have a lot of practice in dealing with assholes, eh? (I keed, I keed!)  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - My theory is that with Merle if he isn't trying to cause a fight, he's trying to get him some.  
**

**Lilone1776 - I'm glad you appreciated that bit. I figured that Merle would be the honest type.  
**

**6747 - Yup. A loveable ass.  
**

**Axelrocks - Mah, you're always so sweet to my work in your reviews...you deserve something nice...  
**

**animeprincess11 - Yes, the others will come into play soon. (Glenn is my third favourite of the men with Rick coming in right behind Daryl). You know they'll be coming around. ^_^  
**

**earthbound68 - ^_^ Back at you!  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - You've basically summed up my feelings about Merle perfectly. No one is ever pure evil. Merle is definitely hard to get along with, but I think he's suffered just as much (if not more) than Daryl. After all, Merle was looking out for Daryl (we can only really assume) when they were growing up, but who was looking out for Merle?  
**

**MarionArnold - Oh, Sister Joan is definitely going to help keep Merle in line. She is named after the patron saint of soldiers, so you know she's tough as nails.  
**

**spygrrl99 - Hmm, you bring up a good point. I suppose if pressed, I'd have to say I based the Lieutenant's looks a little on Gary Cooper. He always seemed to play average men who fell into situations greater than them (the best example: Meet John Doe) and I guess when I started writing the Lieutenant, Gary Cooper was the one man on my mind. Although, I'd be interested to know who others see him as...  
**

**LL - Hahaha! Oh wow, Linda Hunt! You have quite the imagination, my friend. ^_^  
**

**GG - Aw, wow. Your review was super kind. I mean it really touched me. Thanks a lot.  
**

**jwoods592 - Thanks! I'm going to try!  
**

**Hey, if you people follow me over on tumblr, let me know if your screen name is different here. I'd like to bust your chops over there more. **

**Also, sorry that this chapter is OC heavy...I know, OC's are the worst, but if you just bear with me, I promise the next chapter is Caryl-y goodness.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 11: ****Honneur**  


****The Lieutenant****

By the time they hit the dirt road winding up through the thick trees, heading home, the Cajun found himself heavily amused by the _petit cabri_. They had stopped in at the prison to grab more formula for the baby, before hitting the worn old dirt road to the convent and in the span of that time the man seemed to have both softened and hardened.

He softened earlier, in that the Lieutenant actually witnessed him kissing a baby on the forehead, but this seemed to spur in him a sort of self-loathing that caused him to immediately harden. He both commanded the woman named Carol to stay close to him at all times, then immediately acted as though she weren't moving at his side.

The tiny blonde named Beth moved up to walk beside Daryl and the Lieutenant could hear the words 'trust' and 'kill', but the rest of the conversation was lost on the wind.

The _petit cabri_ shrugged her off, storming on further ahead.

At his side the old man eyed the Lieutenant quietly. The _vieux_ reminded the Cajun of Father Christmas with his beard and his grandfatherly kind eyes.

"This group of yours?" He asked, feeling safer to speak once they had left the deeper woods behind. "How many among them?"

"Ten of us, sir."

"Ten of you? How'd you survive this long?"

The Lieutenant faltered at the far off warble of a turkey call, but figured there wasn't much he could do about the ugly bastard now. "Sheer luck, I'd imagine. We're pretty far off the beaten trail, the road into the convent looks like a cattle trail and the Sisters have always lived on little to no electricity. They preserve most of their garden vegetables and I hunt most of their meat. The walls keep all the uggies out, the heavy wrought iron gates help in preventing any infiltration."

"Are the Sisters nice?" Beth asked, falling back to walk on the other side of her father.

The Lieutenant nodded. "Sure. Don't nuns have to be nice?"

"You'd be amazed," Carol added playfully.

Grinning, the Lieutenant shifted the rifle on his shoulder. "Well, the Old Missy may have a problem with your beard, sir." He addressed Herschel. "But she has some kind of facial hair phobia, I'm sure. Lafayette," he mimicked her no-nonsense Georgian tone, "just because the world has ended doesn't mean personal upkeep has to as well. Shave that thing or I'll set fire to it in your sleep, so help me…"

The group laughed at him, except for Daryl who hardly paid him any attention, keeping his eyes on the forest surrounding the group.

Falling silent, the Lieutenant stopped short, eyeing the road ahead.

He noticed on the wall in the distance two nuns walking the length of it and it bothered him. To keep from wearing out he made sure they patrolled one on the wall, and one at each gate, but two on the wall? It wasn't normal.

Adjusting his rifle, he stepped up his pace, jogging to the convent.

"Lieutenant!" Sister Mary Monica greeted as he approached the gate.

"What's up?" He asked. "Something's happened, yeah?"

"Abominations," she explained. "Sister Joan, Father O'Rourke and that new guy took care of them though."

Looking around, noticing the others had joined him at the gate, he eyed the forest and the road. "How many?"

"Five or six."

Pulling his rifle off his shoulder, the Lieutenant looked about a little more cautiously. "Everyone okay?"

"Of course."

"When'd this happen?"

"Yesterday. Haven't seen any more of them though."

Motioning the others into the safety of the convent walls, the Lieutenant took one last look about, before bringing up the rear.

Forgetting for a moment the other group, he marched across the lawn, heading to check on his own people.

As he burst into the main building he did a head count as he passed by nuns doing various household chores, Sister Mary Agnes sweeping, Sister Gertrude stopped by an icon of Saint Francis with one of her many cats, the wee boo came racing up to him with a hug and a smile and he scooped her up absently, holding her tight in his arms as he continued on heading for the Old Missy's office.

Without caring about manners, he burst into the room.

She jumped from where she was dusting the books on her shelves and placed a hand to her chest.

"Lafayette!" She scolded. "I think you aged me three years! Whatever are you doing bursting into people's rooms without knocking?"

He moved towards her, eyeing her quietly. "You alright, Missy?"

"Of course, good heavens, my heart is racing, but I'm fine," she hopped down from the stepping stool she was perched on and wiped her hands off on the crisp white apron she wore over her habit.

Suddenly embarrassed by his reaction to the uggie attack, he shifted on his feet. "I…heard about the uggies."

Removing her apron, the woman calmly folded it and placed it on her desk. "I'm sorry I may have overreacted by placing two Sisters on the wall, but I was concerned with you gone so far away from us."

"I'm sorry, Missy." He said.

In his arms the wee boo giggled and pressed a kiss to his chin. "Did you catch me a turkey yet?" She demanded, drawing his attention from feeling bad about abandoning his group back to her.

The Lieutenant smiled crookedly at her. "Naw, but I found some more people to entertain you, princess."

"Are they fun people?" She asked.

"More fun than me, I'm sure." He replied. "You finish your chores for the day?"

"Um-hm."

"Are you fibbing?" He inquired.

She shrugged.

"Did you finish your chores, Little Missy?" He repeated in a harder tone.

"Not yet."

"Then you best go and finish up."

The girl squirmed. "Can't I stay here with you and Mother Mena?"

"No, go on. You know the rules, we all gotta pull our weight." He put her down.

The little one glared up at him. "How come you get to go outside and play and I have to clean the stupid old church?!" She growled. "Jesus knows it's the end of the world, he won't care if the stupid old floor gets dusty!"

"Annie Louise Miller," the Old Missy scolded archly. "You better watch that tone around me, young lady."

Kneeling, the Lieutenant glared at her, sticking his bottom lip out, mocking her.

The little girl huffed.

"Alright," he grunted, "that's it. I'm dunking you in the holy water…"

She giggled suddenly and dashed out of his reach as he made a playful lunge at her.

"The devil's in this one, Old Missy! I feel it!" He cried, chasing the little one a bit as she hopped around the room away from him.

Laughing all the way out of the room, the wee boo could be heard giggling all the way down the hall.

Turning to the Old Missy, the Lieutenant adjusted his rifle over his shoulder sheepishly when he noticed her grave look, before speaking. "I, uh, should go get the new comers settled."

"Just a moment, Lafayette. I'd like a word with you, please."

He set his gun down at the door as he was supposed to and joined her as she met him in the middle of the office.

She was so small that she came up to the area just under his chest, but she carried herself like a Queen of eight feet in height.

"Sorry about the devil thing, it's just the wee boo has a wicked streak to her that—" he began.

"Never mind that, Lafayette. I've been thinking these past few weeks, that perhaps the next time you're out scavenging, you might bring back some more suitable clothing for the Sisters here. Our habits are hardly suitable for this new environment, wouldn't you agree?"

The Lieutenant hesitated, rubbing his palms over his thighs. "I agree, but…maybe the habits will keep you safe should anything happen, yeah?"

"Are you talking about the other humans who may come here with wicked intent? I'm not concerned by man, Lafayette." She replied firmly. "What I'm most concerned with are those things outside my convent."

Giving in with a nod, the Lieutenant sighed. "Alright. I'll see what I can scrounge.

"Good," she moved back towards her apron. "And…I'd like a gun, if you have one to spare."

Furrowing his brow, he took a jilted half step after her, mouth open, before he stopped himself. The woman had been the only Sister to adamantly refuse a weapon, even Sister Gertrude had been convinced to carry around a small 9mm that the Lieutenant had left over from his squad. She didn't partake in any of the weapon safety lessons he had given, nor had she expressed any interest in them before.

"A gun, _cher_?"

Ducking into the apron, she calmly tied it. "Yes, a rifle I think."

Taking a step towards her practically had him toppling over her as she spun around quickly. They halted short of colliding and he noticed a flush to her cheeks that confused him. In fact, the entire mood of the woman had changed dramatically since he was gone. She seemed calmer, more relaxed in his presence.

"A rifle?" He repeated.

She looked him up and down. "Yes."

Folding his arms, the Lieutenant shifted his weight, sticking his hip out. "A rifle'll knock you on your ass, Missy, you're just a little thing. I think we'll get you a handgun of sorts."

"I'm a southern woman, Lafayette, I used to be a southern girl and I know rifle's better than handguns. I want a rifle."

"You used to be a sweet little Baptist church mouse," he argued almost playfully. "You've never held a rifle in your life."

"I'm insulted by your insinuation as to my rifleman skills, Lieutenant." She replied dryly.

"Oh, it's 'Lieutenant' now, is it?" He teased, finding a comfortable niche with this new Old Missy.

Touching a hand to his chest, she smoothed his flak jacket pocket idly. "You have a group waiting outside, don't you? Best get them settled, honey."

"How can a man argue with you, _cher_?" He inquired. "No, I'm honestly curious…"

"Leave my office, Lafayette, you've been dismissed." She replied, turning a cold shoulder on him.

He gawped like a fish on dry land for a moment, before heeding her, taking a dramatic deep bow behind her back at the door, before scooping up his gun and heading out of the room quietly.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

"You ladies can stay in the dorms with the Sisters," the Lieutenant said as he led the group around the convent, giving them the grounds tour after Sister Mary Claire had a once over with them and the baby, checking their overall health. "But the Old Missy has a rule about men in the dorms. No way, no how. You boys will have to shack up with Merle in the infirmary." He noticed Herschel didn't like that idea one bit, but gave him a friendly nod. "Beth'll be safer with the Sisters than anyone, I guarantee."

At the door to the dorms as they approached, the Mother Superior waited with the wee boo at the hem of her skirts.

"This is Mother Superior Philomena," he introduced. "She'll get you ladies settled. Old Missy, this is Carol, Beth, Herschel and that squirming bundle is Judith. Plus, I don't think you properly met Daryl Dixon."

The woman eyed the group for a moment, before turning to Daryl. "I have had words with your brother, Mr. Dixon," she said. "I'm glad to see you seem like the more civilized of the two."

Daryl squinted up at her. "Where is Merle?"

"Sleeping in the infirmary, I'd imagine. He took watch for us last night."

Nodding, the man moved off towards the building.

The Lieutenant didn't miss the way Carol stared after the moody redneck, nor did he miss the small smile she had for him when he glanced back at the group.

The Cajun himself grinned broadly, hiding it under his hand as he rubbed at his jaw.

"Lafayette," the Old Missy snapped him back to the moment.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I'm sure there are things for you to do while we have you with us in body and spirit," she stated.

He knew a 'get lost' when he heard one and rigidly saluting her, slunk off, heading for his garden shed before regrouping his senses enough to get back to his chores.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Honneur** - Honor

**Vieux** - Old man


	12. Canaille

**KrisAnthemum221 - I'm not quite sure Merle would mistreat Carol too badly. He'd definitely try to intimidate her, but I think somewhere deep down he might actually hope that she could be good for Daryl. I think right now he's just being a bastard because that's how he rolls.  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - I'm looking forward to Merle meeting Carol too. He's kind of unpredictable sometimes. I guess maybe it's a Dixon thing.  
**

**Axelrocks - Oh wow, was it the big exciting eppie of SPN that you missed?! I'd be ever so flattered...I think the Lt. is just one of those guys who can get along with a lot of people, has good social skills, but I always like to see him as being the sort that can get along with kids and adults, but has poor luck when it comes to love. Like he strikes out a lot because he's so...different. There will come a moment soon where he addresses Eloise, the woman he brought up with Daryl, but couldn't finish the story.  
**

**jwoods592 - Thank you. *bows*  
**

**spygrrl99 - I've been doing research (because I'm a nerd) on post traumatic stress syndrome and wanted to give the Little Missy a few of the symptoms. She acts out a lot, but I like to think at heart she tries to be good, so yes, long explanation short, she does act out. But I kind of love her for it. Bratty kids (as long as they're not yours) are adorable.  
**

**earthbound68 - They are adorable together, aren't they? He's so easy going she just bosses him about and he follows her orders.  
I'm actually waiting for the day he decides to stand up to her, maybe even just to bust her chops. I think it'd startle her if he ever disagreed with her orders.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - You asked for a meeting between Daryl and Ol' Merle, you got it! Enjoy!  
**

**Well, here's a lovely chapter. One of my personal favourites so far...  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Canaille**

****Daryl****

Merle was sitting in the infirmary when Daryl joined him that evening, cards splayed out on the roll away hospital bed table before him, half the deck at the side, one card in his hand as he tried to find a place for it.

"Now that's just sad," Daryl greeted his brother. "That you're so bored you're willing to play solitaire."

Placing the card down and drawing another, Merle scoffed. "Have to do something to keep me sane, little brother. This place is dull as clay coloured shit."

Glancing over at the priest who sat in the corner of the infirmary with his rifle, Daryl nodded.

The man returned the nod calmly.

"So, you find your _Carol_?" Merle growled.

"I found some of the group, yeah." Daryl replied, moving to sit at the foot of his brother's cot.

"Fiddle-dee-dee, Darlina. Bring them in here and we can all have us a tea party."

"Merle, I have to stay with the group," Daryl said softly, worried his brother might take it the wrong way. "They're pretty devastated since the farm and they need the extra hands."

"This is the same group that left your brother chained to a rooftop, pretty boy." Merle snarled. "They'll leave your ass eventually too and I won't be there to stop them when they do."

Glancing about at the clean infirmary, Daryl worked the muscle in his jaw. "The convent seems like as nice a place as any," he began cautiously.

"Fuck that, baby bro! I ain't staying here like some fucking pet!" Merle stated, kicking the table over, sending the cards flying.

Daryl stood up calmly, eyeing his brother.

Merle's temper was legendary. If people thought Daryl had a bit of an anger problem, Merle was at least seven hundred times worse.

"What? You want me around, but don't want to be around me? You can't have it both ways, you little asshole!" Merle growled, pushing to his feet.

Standing his ground, Daryl eyed his brother. "I'm just saying, you'd be safe here, we'd be close! I could come and see you now and then. We can go hunting like the old days."

"I rather fuck myself in the ass with a barbed hook," Merle spat.

"Suit yourself, Merle." Daryl replied, his own ire beginning to rise. Storming across the infirmary, he paused at the door and turned back to his brother almost nervously. "Merle," he began.

His brother looked up from where he was glaring at the overturned table.

"I want you to stay away from her."

"I wouldn't dream of getting anywhere near your skank, baby bro."

"Don't call her that, Merle."

His brother smiled that sleazy grin of his that meant he was getting ready to be the ultimate asshole. "Sorry, Darlina, I'll call her your whore instead, how about?"

"I mean it, Merle. Watch what you call any of them."

"You want to try and stop me, princess? Come over here and shut Merle up."

Biting the inside of his bottom lip, Daryl tried hard to restrain his anger. No one knew how to push all the right buttons like Merle.

"Because from where I'm standing, you seem like you have the pussy in the relationship," Merle went on. "Come on, pull the tampon out and hit me, baby face!"

"Fuck you, Merle! You're always flapping your fucking lips! Hell if you shut up long enough, you'd be half tolerable to be around!"

"There's a bit of that bitchy anger, how about a little more? Huh? Got some testosterone in there, Darlina? Maybe that bitch of yours cut your nuts off in your sleep…"

Lunging at his brother, Daryl caught him unawares and the two of them fell against the wall between the cots, Merle bent over a bedside table, Daryl pummeling his face.

Beneath him Merle was laughing like a madman, pleased at the results of his prodding.

"Come on, Darlina, you hit like Aunt Gladys! Put a little stank in your swings, girl!"

Grabbing hold of the front of Merle's shirt, Daryl yanked his brother to his feet only to push him onto the floor, where he fell upon him again.

The beating went on for a good two minutes, before the soft, dangerous click of a bolt being slid into place on a rifle stopped both men.

Over them Father O'Rourke stood calmly, eyeing their fight with his rifle aimed.

"Would you two kindly mind breaking it up before you wreck the place?" He asked. "We do have to live and operate here long after you leave."

Giving Merle one last glare, Daryl pushed to his feet and stormed out.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

He had volunteered to take watch for the Sisters while they ate, not at all minding the solitude. He didn't care much for people anyways and the incident with Merle was still weighing on him.

Walking the entire perimeter of the wall, he studied the place for the first time. Taking a moment to look outside himself and the situation with his missing group to finally get his bearings.

There were five or six buildings in all. The main one being the one that housed the dorms, the kitchen and the dining room, the church, the infirmary and two sheds, the other seemed to be a small house of sorts. He assumed it was where the priest stayed as he saw the man pass in and out of it earlier.

As he circled the place, he found a small cemetery at the back of the church filled with creepy old wooden crosses. He assumed it was where the nuns buried their own, even before the end of days. There was also what once was a flower garden of sorts, but now seemed overrunning with tall grass as the spring growth pushed up through the dry stuff.

All the while he was making note of his new surroundings, he was thinking of the group. It was hard to predict Rick's moves. He would either head for familiar territory in the hopes of regrouping (as they had done with the farm attack) or he would go directly after the Governor without wasting time for the asshole to get his act together.

Daryl wasn't sure where to start looking to be honest. It was easy to track a man through mud and grass and leaves and dirt, but a man who didn't want to be found was a man who covered his tracks.

"Little help?" Carol called up to him.

He peered down at her as she struggled to mount the wall and hesitated. The last time he helped her up onto something beside him, she had gotten frisky and he damned near made an ass of himself.

Walking over to stand on the wall above her, he gave the forest outside the convent wall one last glance, before kneeling.

"What's the problem?" He asked gruffly, pretending to be the dumb assed redneck people often took him for.

She hopped a little, trying to get a hold of the top of the wall, despite the fact she was about a foot from reaching it even by jumping. Enjoying her look of intense concentration as she tried to get up, Daryl rubbed a hand over his face to cover his amusement and continued to let her struggle for a moment longer, before offering her a hand.

Her hand was tiny in his, so dainty and feminine that Daryl nearly dropped her on her ass from the distraction. As he hauled her up beside him as carefully as he could, he noticed she was far too light and made a note to go hunting as soon as it was light enough. He could swing a hunt before leaving to track the rest of the group, it didn't make much difference.

Settling on the wall at his side, Carol smiled a little at him as they both dangled their feet over the edge of the wall, watching the forest. "You would have watched me struggle all night, wouldn't you have?"

"Short people trying to jump gives me a fucking thrill in life," he growled.

She laughed softly, bumping her shoulder against his. "I'm not that short."

"Short enough," he replied.

Sensing her edging in closer to him just a little, Daryl glared at the trees. It was getting dark, but he could still make out the shadows of them falling on the forest floor.

Since the walkers started taking over the place, the animals didn't make much noise, not like they used to. Whereas before the world went to shit there were crickets and frogs and birds making their presence known in the evenings, now there was eerie silence.

Daryl actually missed the sound of the crickets at night. It reminded him of his mother, when she was alive and would leave the back door open on warm summer nights to cool the house down. He could always hear the crickets from his bedroom and some nights he'd even take his bedding and pillow and head out onto the porch to sleep.

It may have been his first introduction to nature, how he enjoyed being so close to it. There was nothing but the night and the crickets in those days, at that moment curled up in his blankets on the wooden porch floor.

Things were actually alright then, before his dumb assed mother passed out while smoking. After that, they moved to a cheap place on the low rent end of town, his old man took to drink and Merle took to drugs.

Beside him Carol was quiet and he stole a glance at her.

He had never realized how regal she looked when she was at her most comfortable.

She sat so tall and proud. Back straight, shoulders down with her long, beautiful neck on display. Daryl was reminded of a bust of an Egyptian queen he had seen once in a book on mummies that he had found while shooting rats at the junkyard with Merle.

Her head turned and she caught him looking.

Daryl scowled as a knee jerk reaction to cover his embarrassment and looked away. He could have ignored her until she left, he supposed. The woman made him uncomfortable.

Something brushing against his hand had him flinching instinctively, preparing to lash out, but he stopped himself when he realized it was the side of her hand brushing against his on the wall between them.

Daryl tensed up immediately.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said softly.

It was fucking weird to him, but whenever Carol said something nice, her voice inflected in a way that actually seemed sincere. She was honestly kind when it came to his sorry ass and it bothered him. He was used to sarcasm and snarls, but kindness was something foreign.

He was only just adjusting to her kindness, despite how hard he fought not to adjust to it, it would mean she could get at him better if he was lulled into a sense of security with her.

"Whatever," he growled, that hand of hers brushing against his was a distraction and he couldn't put the proper amount of mean into his tone.

They fell silent again, the awkward lack of sounds in the Georgian countryside disconcerting as all hell.

Daryl was about to get up and go back to patrolling the wall like he should have been doing, when Carol moved fast as a rattlesnake and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His first instinct was again to strike out, but he turned it into a flinch at the last moment, recoiling away from her a little on the wall.

Turning - what he hoped were - glowering eyes on her, he found her looking away, eyeing the encroaching darkness casually.

Daryl wasn't sure how to react. She had stolen a kiss from him before, but he was too injured to react at the time except to snarl something at her, this time he wasn't and he didn't know how to brush the incident off.

It wasn't like he didn't like her kisses, he just didn't know what to make of them. Was she messing with him? Was this some kind of entertainment to her? Baffling the dumb redneck?

No, Carol wasn't like that, but still…what did she want from him?

He glared at the forest. What the hell did she want from him?

"Thanks for saving us," she said finally, still looking out at the oncoming night.

"I'm just doing what Rick would want me to do," he replied darkly.

"You didn't have to look for us," she said. "You could have just left with Merle now that you've found him."

Did she want him to go? Was she trying to give him the hint that he wasn't needed or wanted around them anymore?

Realizing she was waiting for a response, he shrugged.

"I'm glad you didn't," she said then. "I like having you around. Makes me feel safe."

Daryl finally looked directly at her then, seeing an open honesty in her beautiful blue eyes that he often saw when she looked at him.

Without realizing it, he was offering her a small smile and she was returning it with a broad grin.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

He was cleaning his crossbow the next morning, getting ready to go hunting before they left to continue tracking the rest of the group, when a small form plopped down beside him.

"What's that?" The little convent girl asked.

Daryl didn't know her name, it wasn't provided by the Lieutenant and he had only ever seen her yesterday playing with the hem of the Mother Superior's habit.

"Crossbow," he replied gruffly, hoping she'd leave him alone. He liked kids, but he wasn't sure this one was supposed to be hanging around him since both the Mother Superior and the Lieutenant seemed very protective of her, almost to the point of shielding her with their own bodies.

"How's it work?"

"Like a charm." He stated.

She giggled. "No, _couyon_, how does it work? Like what does it do?"

Amused by her use of whatever the hell slang the Cajun had used often, Daryl scoffed. "It kills things."

"Those monsters outside the walls?" She asked.

"Yeah."

Digging her bare toes into the dewy morning grass, the little girl sighed and began pulling up blades of budding grass to toss aside idly.

Daryl looked at her. She was a young girl, about five or six, he'd guess (although his experience with kids was little to none so she could have been any age young enough to be considered a kid), with long dark hair pulled into two braids that fell on either side of her head. She had big brown eyes and a shade to her skin that led him to believe somewhere close by in her blood line was a black ancestor. Maybe a parent even or one of her grandparents had been black. Of course Merle saw to it that he was never around a lot of minorities for long, the girl could have been of some kind of Middle Eastern descent or Latin American for all he knew.

She was a small thing, sickly looking, with twiggy limbs and a sharp featured face that looked fragile, like any second she could burst into tears.

"I'm Annie," she greeted softly, looking at him with curiosity.

"Daryl," he returned.

"I'm from Savannah," she went on. "You ever been there?"

"Once."

"My mom and dad have a cabin up here somewhere in the woods." She pointed out.

He nodded.

"Are you mean?" She asked.

"Yup."

She giggled. "You're not!"

"Sure I am. I'm mean as the devil." He replied.

Glancing around, her eyes widened. "I gotta go! Bye!"

Daryl watched her scurry off, hiding on the other side of the church steps as the Lieutenant moved across the lawn from his garden shed, heading towards Daryl.

"Annie Louise," the Cajun drawled. "Don't think I can't see you, Little Missy."

The little girl poked her head out from her hiding place. "Geez, you're creepy sometimes, Lieutenant! You always know things!"

"Yeah, that's 'cuz I have eyes in the spirit world, boo. Get inside now before I drop some heavy bad _gris-gris_ on you."

"_Possede_!" The girl exclaimed, sticking her tongue out at him and running off.

Waiting for a good minute until the girl was out of sight and earshot, the Lieutenant laughed and flopped down beside Daryl.

"That girl is the devil," he laughed.

Daryl quietly waxed the strings of his crossbow with a chunk of softer candle wax he found in the church. "Where'd she come from?"

The soldier shrugged. "Showed up one day at the gate like a little lost kitten. Been here ever since."

Slinging his crossbow over his shoulder, Daryl pushed to his feet and sniffed casually. "I'm going to go and hunt before we head out."

The Lieutenant smirked and pushed to his feet. "What a wild coincidence, I was about to ask if you wanted to join me this morning. I have a turkey I know whose day has finally come."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Canaille** - Sly, sneaky.


	13. Peekon

**Lilone1776 - I think Merle isn't happy unless he's being a little bitch to people.  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - Daryl and kids. Gotta love it.  
**

**ldyjaydin - I'm glad it pleased you.  
**

**GG - You know I'm getting a lot of people either rooting for the turkey or the Lt. in my reviews...it's kind of fun!  
**

**Vi - Babes. You know you're super special and I appreciate the support you give me.  
**

**Axelrocks - Gah, you always give me great reviews! Thanks a lot for the support! (I'm glad you caught up on SPN).  
**

**earthbound68 - Haha! Turkey babies...funny stuff!  
**

**Surplus Imagination - I'd like to say that I'm a proper member of polite society and had to research a lot of those insults because I'd never say them myself...I'd like to say that, but it'd be a damned lie.  
**

**spygrrl99 - Actually Merle is the hardest one for me to write, he's such a twisted ball of yarn as far as character intricacies go. But yeah, his insults and curses are loads of fun!  
**

**Satory - A fellow Canuck, huh? Well, I apologize for my butchered Cajun French (a lot of it has been taken from Cajun translation sites so it might be improper to an actual French speaker). I wish it was more like Quebecois French, then I could throw a few 'tabarnac!' exclamations into the mix. (This would probably only be funny to you and me, Satory). Anyways, love your avatar. Kick ass nuns are the best. Thanks for the kind review! / / / Un Canuck semblable, huh ? Bien, je fais des excuses pour mon français envoyé à la boucherie de Cajun (beaucoup d'il a été pris des sites de traduction de Cajun ainsi il pourrait être inexact à un haut-parleur français réel). Je souhaite qu'il ait été plutôt le Français de Quebecois, puis je pourrais jeter quelque le 'tabarnac!' exclamations dans le mélange. (Ce serait probablement seulement drôle à vous et à moi, Satory). Quoi qu'il en soit, aimez votre avatar. Les nonnes de cul de coup-de-pied sont le meilleur. Merci pour l'examen aimable ! **

**Gah, love when I meet fellow countrymen online...  
**

**Anyways, Quebecois curse words and talk about turkey aside...here's another chapter. Same tune, different singer.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Peekon**

****Little Missy****

They had told her she couldn't go outside without one of them present, but sometimes she liked to sneak away whenever Mother Mena was at prayer or the Lieutenant was busy.

Knowing what nightmares lurked outside the walls, however, she never wandered far, but sometimes she just needed to feel the grass beneath her feet, to know that the world wasn't changed much at all.

Except.

Except for the things that she didn't like to think of that lingered just outside the walls of the convent in the darkness of the forest.

Spinning around on the grass, she hummed that tune that the Lieutenant taught her and swung her arms about, enjoying the way the black dress that Sister Gertrude had altered out of an old habit for her swished about her ankles.

Picking up a stick that had been blown into the convent grounds by a wind storm they had during the winter, she dragged it along behind her, heading for the infirmary to peek at that big, scary man who everyone seemed to avoid.

She had to hurry, Sister Mary Monica was making her rounds on the wall and was just behind the church at the moment, but soon she'd come back from behind it and see Annie skipping her way across the grounds.

She couldn't remember the words to the song, the Lieutenant had sung it so softly in his funny language in the dark of night after she woke screaming, that she couldn't remember any of the words, so she hummed the tune, hurrying into the shadows of the infirmary just as Sister Mary Monica appeared in sight from behind the church.

Poking her head into the infirmary, she giggled as Father O'Rourke glanced over and ducked her head back just before she could be caught.

Staying in the shadows, she crept over to a nearby window and pushed up onto her tiptoes to peer over the sill inside.

On a cot inside the big man sat playing cards and looking grumpy.

Touching the stick to the window, she tapped it lightly, hoping to catch his attention without Father O'Rourke noticing.

When he continued to play cards, she hopped up to see what Father O'Rourke was up to, before tapping the window a little louder with the stick.

The big scary man looked up and Annie beamed, hopping up and waving happily.

Tilting his head, the man peered over at the priest, before calmly pushing to his feet and heading for the window.

Annie was practically buzzing with excitement as he stopped at the window to peer out at her.

She waved again, then took the stick and drew 'hi' in the dirt below the window.

Leaning against the frame, the big man frowned, before raising his only hand subtly, glancing over to ensure the priest didn't notice the gesture.

Biting her tongue, Annie scratched out the 'hi' and drew 'play'. She was only just learning to print, but the letters were still hard for her, she sometimes drew her A's backwards. This one was perfect because the tail of the A was pointing to the tail end of the word (at least that was what the Lieutenant had taught her).

A sound caught her attention and she scurried around the corner of the building as Father O'Rourke poked his head out the door.

Covering her mouth to hold in her laughter, Annie waited until she was sure the priest had gone back inside, before racing off back towards the dorms, the stick dragging behind her. Reaching the building as the short haired lady that the Lieutenant had brought back from one of his trips exited it, she paused at the sight of Annie high tailing it towards her.

"Hi!" Annie chirped.

The woman, who was holding a baby smiled. "Hello, honey."

"What's its name?" Annie asked, pointing at the baby with the stick.

"Her name is Judith."

"Can I see her?" Annie asked, hopping up to try and catch a glimpse of the baby.

The woman smiled kindly and stooped low enough for Annie to see the baby. Annie liked the lady's smile, it reminded her of her mama.

"Does she sleep a lot?"

"Mostly, yes. Where's your parents, sweetie?" The woman asked, taking a seat on a nearby bench in the shade.

Annie flopped onto the grass at her feet. "Gone."

For some reason this seemed to make the woman uncomfortable and Annie shrugged at her reaction. She couldn't remember much of what happened before she woke up at the convent. Some days she thought maybe it was a bad dream and that the Lieutenant and Mother Mena were her real parents. After all, didn't they hug her like a mama and papa would? Didn't they scold her or feed her or let her snuggle and kiss them?

Wriggling her toes in the cool grass, Annie poked the ground with the stick.

"That's a pretty dress you're wearing," the woman said.

"Sister Gertrude made it for me. I hate it, it's too hot."

The woman smiled, it was broad and nice. "I bet you'd like something bright and colourful, hm?"

Annie nodded. "I like that this spins pretty though, like a bell." She stood up to demonstrate the skirts swish effect and the lady laughed.

Sitting on the bench now at the lady's side, Annie swung her feet.

"I bet you're real bored here, huh, sweetie? Without other children around to play with." The lady said.

Annie nodded enthusiastically. "The Lieutenant sometimes plays tag with me, but…he's been busy lately."

"I'm afraid I can't play tag with the baby in my arms," the lady said. "But how about Eye Spy?"

Beaming, Annie nodded. "Okay! I'll go first!"

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

Her and the nice lady – Carol – played Eye Spy for about an hour before Annie spied Sister Mary Agnes open the gate for the Lieutenant and the quiet man with the crossbow.

She hopped off the bench, racing across the grounds for her Lieutenant. He always gave the best hugs and she wanted to see him clean the turkey.

Launching herself at him, she climbed up his body until she dangled from his neck. He was as tall as a tree and she loved climbing trees.

"Hi!" She greeted him, burying her face into his neck. He smelled like the woods with a faint hint of the smell of the church. And when he wrapped his long arms around her, they were solid like the limbs of a tree and she felt safe. The Lieutenant never let anything bad happen to her here. He kept them all safe and happy.

"What are you doing outside, Little Missy?" He inquired.

She giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, just below his right eye. "Carol was playing Eye Spy with me. I like her." She turned her head to eye the man who walked quietly behind the Lieutenant, he held a bunch of dead furry things in his hand. "Hi!" She said.

He nodded at her.

"What's that?" She pointed at the furry things.

"Squirrel."

"Why?"

"Good eating," he returned.

"Yeck!"

"You won't be saying that when you're craving meat later on," he shot back.

Burying her face back into the Lieutenant's neck, she giggled. The man had pretty blue eyes and she liked his voice, but for some reason he made her feel shy.

"Does the Old Missy know you're out and about?" The Lieutenant asked.

Annie shrugged.

"Did you sneak off while she was at prayer again?"

"I don't like praying, it's boring!" She insisted, hoping that the Lieutenant would save her from having to do so. "All you do is kneel there and think your thoughts!"

"Did you ever think that maybe you're giving the poor woman a fright sneaking off like you do?" He asked softly in his strange voice as he set her on the ground by the church.

Annie shrugged.

"I _am_ having a fright," Mother Mena's voice broke over them as she stepped out of the church nearby. "You're in very bad trouble, little lady."

Hiding behind the Lieutenant, Annie took hold of his big hand and hoped he'd help her out with Mother Mena. It was that big hand of his that had removed a thorn from her foot just last fall when she ventured into the old flower garden with her bare feet and found a neglected rose bush. Through her tears she had seen his face and it comforted her in a way that she had never had in a long time. He was her Lieutenant from that moment on.

"Annie Louise, I stand up from prayer to find you gone, what makes you think I wouldn't panic?" She demanded.

Shrugging, Annie pulled further back behind the Lieutenant.

"I'm sorry, Mother Superior," Carol broke in, moving towards them with the baby. "It was my fault. I found her on the grounds and thought she looked bored, so I kept her busy by playing a game. I wasn't thinking that maybe she was missed somewhere."

Annie peered around the Lieutenant's thigh, watching as Mother Mena sighed, thinking the whole matter over. Offering Carol a small, grateful smile, Annie hoped she would get off the hook on this one.

She felt the Lieutenant's free hand land on her shoulder and she giggled as he tweaked her chin. Wrapping her arms around his waist gratefully, Annie buried her face in his hip, knowing he forgave her. He always did.

"Lafayette," Mother Mena spoke, "why am I always the one playing the villain?" She demanded.

Annie giggled, she loved when Mother Mena used the Lieutenant's real name. It made her laugh every time.

The tall soldier shifted on his feet.

"Are we really going to eat squirrel?" Annie broke in, tugging on the Lieutenant's hand, hoping to distract the two from what she knew was going to become a weird adult situation where everyone got uncomfortable.

Sighing heavily, Mother Mena threw her hands up. "I wash my hands of her, Lafayette. You keep spoiling the girl while we do all the punishing."

Watching sadly as the woman walked off, Annie fidgeted with the button on one of the Lieutenant's many pockets on his pants. It wasn't true. If anything the Lieutenant was harder on her than anyone, he just knew when she needed forgiveness. He understood her better.

The Lieutenant moved off after Mother Mena, leaving Annie to stand beside Carol and Daryl.

Peering back at the two, Annie offered them a weak smile.

"Sorry," she said to Carol.

The woman smiled. "Don't worry about it, honey. You'd better go inside though, okay?"

Annie nodded. "Can we play again sometime?"

"Of course," Carol said.

Beaming, Annie skipped off, heading in the direction that the Lieutenant and Mother Mena went, as the Lieutenant paused at the corner of the church to urge her to follow.

She caught up with him, sliding her hand into his. "Are you awful mad?" She asked.

He looked down at her, still trailing behind Mother Mena. "I am." He said. "You shouldn't worry the Old Missy like you do. She loves you, you know?"

Annie frowned. She supposed she never thought about it like that. It was like when the Lieutenant went away and she didn't know what was happening with him. If he was safe or happy. Maybe that's how Mother Mena felt when she snuck off.

Pressing her face into the back of his hand, she thought about this, eyeing Mother Mena's swishing backside in front of them as they paused at the dorms.

The Lieutenant wasn't allowed inside without Mother Mena saying it was okay and Annie looked up at him. She could remember the feel of his arms around her on the nights when she woke screaming so loud that he could hear it all the way in the garden shed. The first night he nearly broke down the door to get inside at her, his big old knife drawn, Mother Mena on his heels with a heavy icon of Saint Jude in her hands as a makeshift weapon.

Annie couldn't stop screaming for the longest time, she remembered this because her throat had begun to hurt, but whatever bad dream she had was so horrible she couldn't stop.

By the time she was able to stop, by the time she remembered to stop, she found herself scooped up in his lap, Mother Mena at his side stroking her hair.

Since that night the Lieutenant had been her most favourite person with Mother Mena a close second.

Suddenly feeling bad for causing trouble, she hugged him tightly around the waist.

"I'm sorry I'm so bad all the time!" She exclaimed.

"You're not bad, boo. Just bored." He replied, stooping to press a kiss to her temple. "I wish you had another little girl to play with, but things are not like they used be. You know?"

Annie nodded.

"Why don't you go and curl up in Old Missy's lap, you know she loves when you do that."

"Okay. You wanna come too? She softens when you're around."

The Lieutenant laughed softly. "Softens?"

"Um-hm, her face gets all soft and sparkly." Annie stated.

"I didn't know a person could get sparkly…" he teased.

Playing with the hem of her dress, Annie swirled a little. "Of course they can, Lieutenant!"

"Get inside you wee boo," he teased, flipping her braids off her shoulders playfully.

Annie paused, looking at the Lieutenant for a long moment, before speaking. "Will you come back to us?"

"Of course, I always will."

"Not everyone does, though, do they?"

Smiling his funny, secretive grin, the Lieutenant shifted on his feet. "I'm not everyone, though."

"That's true." She said. "Lieutenant?"

He stopped at her calling his name and turned back to her. "What, wee boo?"

"Can I play with Carol and Daryl's baby sometime?"

The Lieutenant smiled his funny smile as though he knew something she didn't. "I think she's a little too little right now, but it's okay if you want to play with Carol sometime."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Peekon** - Thorn


	14. Gaienne

**Vi - Yeah, I'll take that compliment, considering I avoid children at all costs.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Well, it has only been one chapter and one day, I'm sure Annie will be flocking around Beth soon enough...  
**

**Axelrocks - I stick by my theory that Merle isn't a monster. He's probably just like Daryl in that he has this deep, well hidden, soft spot for children. Haha, my default image is indeed Norman with a little princess crown...I never make cover images for fanfiction, it seems too serious for the ridiculous world that is fanfiction. I mean, it's bad enough I take the time to write it, must I cobble together some dramatic cover image as well? ...I got shit to do, man. *pulls Rick-face* I do stuff, Axelrocks. Things.  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - ^_^ I'm glad you enjoyed that part so much!  
**

**MarionArnold - Yeah, the ZA is probably the worst place to be a kid. You never get to have any fun and if you're a kid who knew the world before the ZA then you'd definitely miss being spoiled and lazy.  
**

**LL - Oh! Haha, never really planned on nun's getting down with the secular men...but...I do like to keep an open mind...  
**

**Because you've all been so kind in reviewing, I decided to do a rapid fire upload. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Gaienne**

****Carol****

"I'm thinking if we can find a vehicle of some sorts we'd have a better chance of covering more distance."

She stood nearby while the Lieutenant and Daryl went over their plan of tracking the rest of the group, huddled over a road map of Georgia.

In her arms Judith kicked and twitched in her sleep, moving her little jaw, pushing her plump, wet little mouth out in her sleep, drooling a little onto the blanket she was wrapped in.

"I went through a farmyard a few weeks ago, had a truck parked in the driveway, we might find some fuel and keys there, could use it." The Lieutenant said, pointing to an area on the map. "Around there, somewheres."

"Sounds good. I'm going to take a piss, then we can set off," Daryl replied, walking away.

On his way past her, Daryl paused long enough to give her a small nod and she returned it with a large grin.

He passed by the Mother Superior on his way across the lawns and the woman gave him a kind smile and greeting.

"Lafayette?" She greeted, moving to stand by the towering soldier, a piece of paper in hand.

Carol smiled as she watched the man react to the petite nun, hunching over almost imperceptibly. She didn't know what their relationship was exactly, but from what little she had seen, the man adored the nun.

"Yes, Missy?"

"I have a list of things, if you come across them."

He took the paper from her hand and glanced it over. "Okay. I'll see what I can do for you."

Reaching out the woman smoothed down the lapel of the Lieutenant's camouflaged flak jacket, her tiny hand making neat, quick work of it. "You come back to us, Lafayette. You belong here with us."

Carol watched at the man's grey eyes went from amused to openly shocked and then back to amused just as fast.

His crooked grin broadened. "Of course, _cher_. Keep the Sisters alert, while I'm away. One herd is more than enough, yeah?"

The woman nodded.

"If things get bad, for any reason," he went on. "I want you to take everyone up into the bell tower and barricade it the way I showed you all how, yeah?"

"Of course."

"I'll be back soon enough to clear you out."

"Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee." The Mother Superior whispered softly.

"And then some, Missy," the Lieutenant replied cheekily.

Too busy being a spectator in the little moment between the Mother Superior and the Lieutenant, Carol didn't notice someone move up just beside her until he spoke.

"You be careful while we're gone." Daryl said.

Carol jumped a little and turned her head to him, he could sneak up on the wind. "We will. You stay safe out there."

The gruff man nodded, a very, very faint smile touching his lips. "Yeah." Glancing over at the Lieutenant and the Mother Superior, Daryl winced. "Judith's running low on formula. I thought we'd look for some while we're out."

"That'd be good, thank you." She pursed her lips.

Shifting on his feet as though something were bothering him, he adjusted the crossbow on his shoulder and sniffed. "Stay away from the infirmary, okay?"

She must have given him an odd look, because he got even more uncomfortable.

"Just do it."

"Okay."

With one final nod, Daryl moved off, heading for the Lieutenant who waited for him at the gate.

Carol moved to stand beside the Mother Superior, watching the men leave.

"I always get an eerie feeling whenever that man passes through that gate," the woman said, crossing herself slowly, the Mother Superior took hold of her rosary and sighed. "Maybe it's because outside these walls is hell on earth and he's the only thing that makes me feel safe anymore. Imagine that," she addressed Carol, "a mortal man bringing an old nun like me comfort."

Smiling, Carol turned from the nun back to the gate that was now locked and secured behind them. They were nowhere in sight.

"Come on, honey," the nun said. "We all pull our weight around here and I have a few chores for your lot to take care of."

As she followed the woman quietly, Carol realized that the woman seemed to have indicated something lost in her tone. Shouldn't she find comfort in Jesus? Maybe times being what they were the woman had put her faith in a more tangible saviour.

**..-~-..**

* * *

**..-~-..**

Later that evening as Carol made a stew from the canned vegetables from the convent's root cellar and the meat Daryl and the Lieutenant had caught that morning, she thought about the situation. When things first got bad at the prison she didn't have time to reflect, they were living second by second in desperate conditions, but now in the safety of the convent she thought hard about it.

There was no doubt in her mind Rick would fight the Governor until either his group or theirs was wiped off the face of the planet. He had no choice. The Governor wouldn't give up until his enemies (or who he perceived as threats) were gone and the same went for Rick.

This meant that things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.

It was one thing fearing the dead, but with man turning on man.

She couldn't understand how the Sisters could have faith after something like that. Hell, even Carol had lost hers and she had always believed herself quietly devote.

Eyeing the nuns who bustled around the kitchen beside her, she wondered if anyone of them were having doubts, if any of them were beginning to feel the pressure of the world outside their walls.

The Mother Superior's words from earlier stuck with her, it wasn't something a nun would say. It didn't feel like something a nun would say.

Smiling at Beth who was perched on a chair nearby with Judith in her arms and Annie playing at her feet, Carol went back to stirring the stew in the pot on the old woodstove. She missed having an oven with even heat, but times being what they were, she was just glad for a hot meal.

The Sister's really did live simple lives, didn't they? It seemed like the woodstove was used even before the whole mess with the walkers. Truth be told the more she wandered the property, the more she realized it was old, older than she would have thought and some of the fixtures that they must have used at the turn-of-the-century were still being used.

The nuns pumped water from a well for their purposes; they canned their own food, made their own clothes, they were highly self-sufficient.

Around her Sister Mary Claire and Sister Mary Elizabeth laughed softly about something and Carol smiled awkwardly at the elderly nun who was busy pouring water into a dish for a few cats who weaved in between her skirts and back out again.

Herschel came into the room with the Mother Superior at his side and he offered her a patient smile as he hobbled over towards his daughter.

The Mother Superior greeted the Sister's with a small smile, heading directly for Carol.

"Carol, thank you for helping, I'm sorry if I was pushy earlier," she greeted gently.

Laughing it off, Carol smiled. "It's okay. I understand you don't want to feed mouths who aren't willing to work for it."

The woman smiled too.

Carol was struck by how beautiful the nun was. She had the cheekbone structure of a classic movie starlet, the fresh, clean skin of a woman who lived a clean, healthy life and the large, clear eyes of a young girl taking in a cruel world placed under the dramatic, dark brows of Greta Garbo. And for all that, Carol found she couldn't exactly place the woman's age.

"Sometimes I come off as a little harsh," the woman admitted. "It's something I inherited from my daddy. Takes me a little while to realize how hard I seem." Taking hold of the spoon, the woman stirred the stew for Carol. "I am sorry to hear about your people," she said softly. "Lafayette has told me about them and this…Governor fellow, I wish things didn't have to be this way for you."

"Some men just want the world to burn, I suppose," Carol said absently, not sure exactly what to say. She couldn't tell the woman that from what Rick said that the Governor would come after anyone who had anything he wanted. She couldn't and wouldn't worry the woman with something like that.

"I suppose." The woman picked up a dish towel and folded it idly, making crisp, neat folds, before placing it on the counter where she found it. "He's a dangerous man, isn't he? This Governor?"

"I wouldn't really know. Rick didn't say too much about him before we all got separated."

"But the look in your eyes says enough." The woman stated. "You're afraid of this man and the threat he poses."

"Seems I'm always in a state of fear lately," Carol replied. "But the world isn't the same, is it? We just have to band together to be stronger."

"From man or beast?" The Mother Superior asked.

"Sometimes both, apparently."

For a moment the woman was silent, before she nodded. Reaching up, her hands paused at the edge of her veil, before she removed it quietly, folding it just as neatly as she had done the dish towel and placing it overtop the rag on the counter.

Carol stared at the woman's shortly cropped black hair with the hints of grey at the temples in horror. She didn't know why, but she didn't like the fact that the nuns behind the Mother Superior had fallen dead silent.

Something wasn't right about the woman doing that, but she wasn't sure what it was, not being Catholic or a nun.

Nodding, the woman placed a strong, delicate hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Thank you, Carol." Turning she moved off, pausing long enough to give each of the two sisters present a kind touch to their hands. "I'd like you to gather the Sisters together," she addressed the older nun, "as soon as possible, please."

Picking up the folded veil, Carol held it in her hands for a moment, feeling the warmth of the woman who had just been wearing it. She wanted to go after the Mother Superior, feeling guilt over being the one who…just did whatever it was she did, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized the woman wouldn't listen. She had made her mind up about something.

She looked up at the two nuns who were both still awkwardly casting glances in the direction of the veil and winced, moving towards them with it held out.

They gawped at it for a moment, before the younger of the two took it from her hands with a soft 'thank you'.

Carol gave them a forced smile and returned to the stew, her hands shaking a little.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

She was dumping dirty dishwater outside in the dead grass of the flower garden, when a voice purred at her through the darkness.

"Carol…" Merle rasped moving out of the shadows.

Dropping the pan into the dirt, she knelt to retrieve it quickly.

"What ever happened to that fat assed husband of yours?" He went on, moving closer to her.

She glanced at him, the smug grin, the hard, mean look, the predatory glint in his eyes, she remembered him being gruff and tainted with danger, but she couldn't remember just what it was that made her afraid of him, until he moved to tower over her.

Merle was about the same size as Daryl, but for some reason he carried himself taller, broader than his younger brother.

"Ed's dead," she replied softly.

The man seemed to be sizing her up and she didn't like the feel of being under his gaze at all. It reminded her too much of Ed's gaze.

"Yeah, he seemed like the type that would be the first to go," Merle finally said. "But you…I have to say I'm shocked you made it this far, sweet pea."

Carol studied the man as his remaining hand lifted up and he held it out to her, palm up. What did he want? Didn't Daryl say last night that he was confined to the infirmary? That the priest was watching him?

"Want me to carry that for you? Seems too big and heavy for a little slip of a thing like you." He went on.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

Merle grinned. "Of course you are."

Knowing intimidation tactics better than most women, Carol found herself unable to find fear over Merle, she had faced worse and wouldn't back down from him. Still, she wasn't stupid enough to cause trouble, so she remained polite.

"What are you doing out, Merle?" She asked. "Taking a walk?"

"Of sorts. I'm on the wall in an hour."

This startled Carol more than any strike could have coming from him. "They trust you on the wall?"

"They don't seem to have much choice," he replied, "what with their local soldier boy off playing war games with my baby bro. Leaves them a little shorthanded."

"I think it's nice of you to volunteer," she said.

Merle looked at her like she had lost her damned mind. "Nice?" He demanded. "Ain't nice, I just don't want them so fatigued I can't get a good goddamned sleep in. Don't want to wake up to walkers chewing on my face…" He shifted on his feet, large boots scuffing the dirt. "I was doped pretty badly during the quarry, but…didn't you used to have a little thing that followed you around?"

Carol set the pan down by her feet. "Sophia."

"She still around?" He asked.

She shook her head. "Not anymore."

For a moment Merle's hard face stilled as he processed this, before he sniffed. "Yeah well, probably for the best."

Stooping to collect the pan, Carol tucked it against her hip to carry it better. "Goodnight, Merle."

"You know my baby brother's a dumb ass, right?" Merle called after her.

Carol stopped and turned on him to gauge his face when she said that.

He was calm, collected, gazing back at her with unreadable eyes.

"Don't say that," she whispered. "Daryl's done more for the group than anyone."

"Don't tell me what my brother is and isn't, sweet pea," Merle growled. "He's a dumb ass, always has been and always will be. He don't know what's good for him. Always getting his hopes up, setting goals that are far too high, being blinded by bitch emotions like a woman."

Carol looked the man up and down quietly. "Daryl's a good man," she said, trying to keep the shakes out of her voice. Sure she had come a long way from Ed, but big, mean men like Merle still scared her a little. They always would. They scared her, because she knew what lurked in the hearts of such men. "He actually cares about people, Merle. What about you?"

"I'm a survivor, sister." Merle grunted. "Mean as a cornered scorpion because it's what keeps a man alive in this world."

"You're an asshole, Merle," she stated firmly. She'd worry about the beating he'd give her later, for the moment she wanted him to know a few things. Besides she had a little residual anger left over from him calling Daryl a 'dumb ass'. "You got yourself high as a skunk, handcuffed to a roof for your own good and into a mess with a group of monsters like yourself, people who have no morals or scruples. Everything you have coming, you brought on yourself. So don't you dare insult Daryl for being a human being when you can barely act civilized enough to make friends."

The big man stormed towards her, with his hand curled into a fist and Carol stood her ground, flinching only a little when he invaded her personal space. His blue eyes narrowed at her and Merle just stood there, stooped enough to peer directly into her eyes.

Finally he straightened up. "I can see why the little dumb ass likes you." He said. "You've got it in you, don't you, sweet pea? Never had anyone as small as you call me an 'asshole' to my face…"

She blinked at him.

Merle smiled then. "I've got a wall to walk."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Gaienne** - Girlfriend


	15. Tremp

**AFishNamedSushi -**** Well, thank you very much for your kind review. I'm glad you understand that Merle isn't just the 'bad guy' as well. I'm kind of sad to see him portrayed as the stereotypical villain in a lot of fanfictions. And not just because I hate him, all villains have their reasons for being 'bad' and Merle certainly could have many hidden behind that tough Dixon exterior of his.  
**

**earthbound68 - I can neither confirm nor deny that I'd ever kill of Merle. But I can tell you that Merle is a much loved character with me. ^_^  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - After ten minutes, when I finished laughing at your review, I realized you're right. Still love the man though.  
**

**LL - Merle has his reasons, which will be revealed in due time. Yes, I enjoy a strong Carol, but there's a fine line sometimes with people taking her strength too far. I've never seen her as an ultimate warrior, but she steps up when the need arises and this I respect.  
**

**GG - Don't worry. I have a lot of respect for people of faith (I'm not religious at all, but I do respect others religions) and I would never have Missy give up her faith so easily. ^_^  
**

**Axelrocks - Of course Merle called Daryl a dumb ass, he's Merle. Can't ever be outwardly nice. ^_^ I think he's just overprotective of his baby brother, doesn't want to see him get hurt.  
**

**MarionArnold - Big calls abound, indeed. Carol is definitely a strong lady, I think she has no real fear of taking a punch anymore, and it's a damned shame that she should be used to them, but Ed was a dick and is dead, so...you know...  
**

**Amenthiste - Thanks! Reviews like yours keep my creativity fueled! No, honestly. If it wasn't for kind reviews from all you kiddos, I wouldn't be updating so damned fast. But you guys get me excited about what's around the bend and force me to write. ^_^  
**

**spygrrl99 - The thing I love about TWD is little tidbits of back story you get from the characters. Back story keeps me happy as a clam and I'm glad you're intrigued by the Old Missy and her story. This please me. *smug face* XD  
**

**Surplus Imagination - The brothers speak the language of Dixon when it comes to Carol. ^_^  
**

**Geez, here's another of my personal favourite's as far as chapters go. I hope you enjoy it!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Tremp**

****The Lieutenant****

By the time they arrived at the abandoned farm, it was high noon and both men were sweating heavily.

The cool spring air had turned on its ass to become the sweltering heat of a summertime Georgia.

The Lieutenant liked it. It felt more like home.

The moved into the farmyard quietly, weapons drawn, prepared for anything. It seemed for as dumb as the uggies were, they sought out remnants of humanity like they still recognized the places where humans once stood.

Or maybe it was true that they could smell a living being long after they were gone.

People were never dumb enough to leave their keys in their vehicle like the movies always showed, but Daryl and the Lieutenant still gave the cab of the truck a once over just in case.

As they pulled themselves up from inspecting a toolbox on the ground by the open driver's side door, they found a group of three uggies ambling around the corner of the house.

Daryl raised his crossbow and fired, taking one down to make the chances a little more even, before the two men moved out from around the truck, knives in hand. Taking down the remaining uggies, they looked around quickly for more, before moving on into the house cautiously.

Inside it was relatively clean, signs of hasty packing were found in the bedrooms, but all in all there were no signs of the former occupants being gnawed on, they found it clear of the undead, the doors having been secured enough to prevent the uggies from getting inside.

"Okay," the Lieutenant said as they paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Keys, food and weapons first," he said, "everything else is a luxury."

Daryl nodded. "I doubt they'd have any, but keep an eye out for formula for the baby."

"Will do. We'll load the truck once we find the keys."

"With our luck the man of the house probably took them with him when they left," Daryl pointed out, looking about the front hall for a key rack.

"You know how to hot wire an old truck like that, _Texian_?" The Lieutenant asked.

The younger Dixon gave him a quick glance.

"Of course you do," the Cajun stated with a grin.

"You can thank Merle for that," Daryl mumbled as they moved into the kitchen, hoping to find a key rack there. "The dumb bastard seemed to think I'd make a good car jacker when I was small enough."

"Small enough for what?"

"To walk clean of grand theft."

Opening the cupboards, the Cajun grinned and began pulling down cans of food.

"You have brothers, Cajun?" Daryl asked.

"Naw, I wrecked the joint when I left the womb." He chuckled. "Made it good and uninhabitable. Ain't no way anyone was getting in there when I was through with it."

Snorting, the youngest Dixon moved on to another room, crossbow at the ready.

Following him, the Lieutenant kept his eyes alert for things that could be used. "'Course my _Mamere_ said it was my big old head that did the dirty work."

"What's a '_Mamere'_?" Daryl demanded as they checked every little cubbyhole they could in the living room, looking for the keys.

"A mean old boo hag that lived in the swamp," the Lieutenant replied with a laugh, before admitting softly, "my grandmother."

"Where was your mother?"

"Crestwood Care Facility, state run loony bin." He poked around in a desk drawer, but looked up at the redneck to gauge his reaction.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder at the Cajun and the Lieutenant gave him his craziest look, squinting one eye and widening the other.

"I get you now," Daryl muttered, moving on.

Chuckling, the Lieutenant followed him. "She was…frail."

"Frail?"

"My _Mamere's_ word for suicidal."

Daryl squinted at the man, before turning back to dig through a tiny decorative chest on a credenza. "What about your pa?"

"What's that now?" The Lieutenant asked lightly, folding his arms and resting his hip against the credenza while Caryl dug through the chest. "So, what's with you and Merle anyways? You do love each other, yeah?"

"Don't be a pussy," Daryl snarled, reaching into a pocket of a jacket that had been left lying on the couch.

"Yeah, you're right, emotions are for the weak," the Lieutenant returned smugly.

Daryl pulled a set of keys out of the pocket and held them up triumphantly, tossing them at the Cajun.

"Go make yourself useful, Fay." He ordered.

Catching the keys, the Lieutenant smiled his funny little cat-like smirk. "Alright, but when I get back we're going to continue this discussion about our feelings…"

"After you tell me about your daddy," Daryl shot back.

"Je ne parle pas Anglais," the Lieutenant replied casually, moving out into the front hall to try the keys out on the truck. "You're going to have to translate that word for me!" He shouted back over his shoulder.

Stepping out of the house, he found himself suddenly pushed to the ground, something clamping down on his shoulder, driving pain through the nerves there right up his neck.

The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air and the Lieutenant struggled to get at his knife.

The uggie on top of him, discovering his teeth blocked from chomping into tender flesh by the Lieutenant's heavy Kevlar flak jacket, pulled back to snap at his face, but by then Daryl had emerged from the house. Picking up a piece of wood from a pile beside the door, the redneck swung it hard and knocked the uggie off the Cajun.

Rolling away from snapping jaws, the Lieutenant scrambled to his feet, kicking the thing's ass, sending it face first onto the porch floor, where both men fell upon it, putting its undead life to a quick, messy end.

For a moment both men eyed each other, before Daryl spoke. "Did it get you? Are you bit?"

Quickly fumbling to remove all his gear, then his flak jacket and the camo shirt underneath, the Lieutenant eyed his bare shoulder. "Naw, but I'm going to have a hell of a bruise, I can tell you that right now…I feel like such a _tortue_…"

"You looked like a dumb ass turtle rolling around on your back," Daryl pointed out. "Next time pay more goddamned attention."

"Next time I'm going to try not to scream like a little girl," the Lieutenant shot back playfully.

"Come on, I'll give you some coverage while you try those keys out." Daryl said.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

They were loading whatever they needed onto the truck, taking only what the necessary items first.

Packets of seeds that the Lieutenant had found in the root cellar went into the various pockets of his pants and jacket, while Daryl loaded canned goods and preserves from the shelves that lined the root cellar into boxes, before they were loaded into the back of the truck. One good thing about Georgian farmhouses was that there were always preserves in the basements. Didn't matter if they were canned peaches or pickled carrots, everything could and would be eaten.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Standing in the master bedroom later, the Lieutenant pondered the mess of clothes on the bed before him.

He had no idea what women needed in the way of clothing. Or even what sizes the Missy or the other Sisters were. Hell, he was just thankful they hadn't asked him to fetch them back underthings yet, he didn't think he could wrap his mind around that.

"Trying to find a flattering pair of panties for yourself, Fay?" Daryl grunted, stopping in the doorway. "Let's go, we're burning daylight."

"I don't know quite what the nuns will want for clothing." The Lieutenant admitted softly.

The gruff man moved to stand beside the Cajun, eyeing the clothes as well. "Well, first things first, I don't think nuns will need the sheer teddy," he remarked flicking the flimsy thing off the bed onto the floor.

"I'm very uncomfortable right now," the Lieutenant said.

"You get used to it after they ask for tampons."

The Lieutenant paled. He didn't want to ever mention the pad-like things the Old Missy had ordered him to pick up for the women, he didn't ever want to think of that again. He had bought out the store (figuratively), stocked them all up for two years and didn't plan on ever broaching that subject again. Ever. The girls would just have to…stop…bleeding…every month.

At his side, Daryl's eyes sparkled. "They already asked you for tampons, didn't they?"

Shifting uncomfortably, the Lieutenant motioned to the clothes, ignoring the jibe. "Maybe one of everything?"

"Just grab handfuls of pants and shit," Daryl stated. "Let's go."

Nodding, the Lieutenant couldn't argue with that logic, stuffing two old valise's with clothes, before following Daryl out the front door.

"I'll drive," Daryl commanded. "I read somewhere that they don't even have cars down on the bayou yet."

"I'm amazed you can read, _Texian_," the Lieutenant shot back.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

"Now I figure if Rick's broken up from the group, he'll be heading for familiar territory, he'll either head here," Daryl pointed to an area on the map that the Lieutenant held open in his lap. "To the Greene farm or backtrack to the highway here. We'll start looking at the highway first."

"You're the man with the plan, I'm just along for the ride."

They drove for the longest time in silence, the Lieutenant watching the countryside roll past his window with sharp, quick eyes. When the world first went to hell, he didn't think he'd miss it as much as he would. The way things were, the way he was.

"Who's Eloise?" Daryl asked from his side.

The Lieutenant quirked a brow, but kept watching the trees and grass pass by. The sky had been grey and overcast all day, but it finally seemed like it was about to do something as in the distance a rumbling could be heard, coming from a nasty black cloud that hung low in the East.

"You mentioned her in the guard tower that night."

"Do you think with the world the way it is, you'll live to be an old man?" The Lieutenant asked. "That even if you live that long, you'll probably be taken down by cancer or a heart attack? Without modern medicine, there's not much chance of survival."

Daryl was quiet. The man had been surprisingly talkative all day and suddenly he decided to clam up.

The Lieutenant eyed him for a moment.

"_Defan_ Eloise…" he muttered, turning back to the window. "Doesn't matter now."

Taking his eyes off the road to give the Lieutenant a quick glance, Daryl scowled.

"Who was she?"

"My _gaienne_. Beloved," he corrected for the man at his side.

The first few drops of rain splattered against the windshield as the skies decided to open up slowly.

"I thought you said you didn't have anyone back home in Louisiana."

"I didn't. She's been dead seven years."

The rain fell down a little harder, landing with heavy splats on the windshield.

Daryl turned the wipers on. "Maybe we should find a place to hole up until the rain stops," he suggested. "Don't want to get caught blind in a downpour."

"Yeah." The Lieutenant agreed.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

After cleaning out a gas station, they parked the truck at the back door in case of a getaway and settled in to wait out the rain.

Resting his head back against a shelving unit, the Lieutenant sighed.

Daryl positioned himself at a window, just out of sight of any uggies, but keeping an eye out cautiously.

"Someone told me long ago, there's a calm before the storm," the Cajun sang softly, teasing the youngest Dixon brother. "I know it's been coming for some time. When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day."

At his lookout, Daryl glanced over, but said nothing.

"I know," he went on cheekily, "shining down like water. I wanna know; have you ever seen the rain? I wanna know; have you ever seen the rain? Coming down on a sunny day." Stopping abruptly, the Lieutenant beamed at Daryl. "CCR, huh?"

The other man scoffed.

"Yeah, much better than Lynyrd Skynyrd any day," he went on idly.

They were silent, allowing the rushing sounds of the rain outside to take over the conversation, before Daryl glanced back at him again.

"So, what happened to her? Eloise?" He asked.

"_Defan_," the Cajun replied. "I didn't love her enough."

Daryl angled his head long enough to pin the other man with a long, hard look, inquiring without words for further details.

"We were going to get married in the autumn of that year, but I had fallen into a…I took her for granted, I suppose." The Lieutenant stuck his long legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "Every morning the sweet girl would wake me with a kiss and the smells of her home cooking. The girl could whip up beignets from Northwest winds and rabbit tracks, I swear. For months leading up to that day I noticed she was…clingier than normal. Like she desperately needed me and I couldn't ever understand why. It was like she didn't want to be alone and I was getting annoyed by it.

That morning, I showered, dressed and ate her breakfast, complaining that the pancakes were a little rubbery, they were still the fluffiest things I have ever eaten, but…I didn't kiss her that day before I left. I just left." The Lieutenant paused.

There were things that no man could ever get out his head. The death rattle of a beloved grandmother who struggled to live, the first time you came under fire from live rounds and enemy insurgents, the uggie that tackled you to the ground with monstrous intent and the look of a beloved hanging so still.

Realizing that he had fallen silent, the Cajun cleared his throat. "Who knows what darkness lies in the hearts of men?" He sighed. "Never hurts to tell a woman you love her, either. Poor thing had been suffering in silence for months, years as far as I knew. When I left that morning, she took an extension cord and…I found her that night."

Daryl glanced back out the window awkwardly.

"Two seconds out of my day to kiss her goodbye and I couldn't find the time. Imagine that."

Outside the spring rainstorm hammered down on the Georgian soil, replenishing the nutrients for the countryside to turn a lush green. Time marched on, whether the dead walked the earth or not and inside the gas station the two men were peacefully silent on the outside, while inside they both churned with ill feelings and regrets.

"Carol had a little girl," Daryl began suddenly, eyes on the raging rainstorm outside. "Named Sophia…"

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Tremp** - Wet.

**Je ne parle pas Anglais** - I don't speak English. (obviously the Lt. was kidding when he said this).

**Tortue** - Cajun swear for pussy (also translates into turtle, the Lt. meant it in the sense of the female genitalia).


	16. Faire Son Idée

**crystal2817 - Thank you.  
**

**Lilone1776 - Going back and re-watching Seasons 1 & 2 (because really, what else can I do *glares in the general direction of AMC headquarters*) I've noticed how drastically Daryl has softened from his rough edged Season 1 self. I enjoy his character development. He really went from redneck with a bad attitude to valued member of the group with a slightly more subtle bad attitude.  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - I would imagine Daryl knows all about hot water bottles and chocolate by this point as well. ^_^  
**

**GG - Creedence, hell yeah, man! I have to admit, I was listening to Born on the Bayou when I first got the seed of an idea for the Lt.  
**

**LL - I do so enjoy a good solid bromance. ^_^  
**

**MarionArnold - I like to think that the Lt. is the type of man who can get along with anyone and the fact that Daryl is a kinder, gentler Daryl means he's more willing to communicate with others. Though it still takes him a while to trust.  
**

**AFishNamedSushi - Aw, your review was so kind. I'm glad you like the Lt. that much. I honestly don't blame people for disliking OC's. I can't stand them myself, but as stated previously, the idea popped into my head and wouldn't work with anyone but an OC. I guess I wanted that outside view of the entire group, not just Daryl and Carol, but I have a few chapters coming up with a little more in depth looks at Merle, Beth and Herschel and the others as well from the Lt.s POV.  
**

**Axelrocks - Mah! And here I thought updating before I headed to school would be better for people...I'm terribly sorry, I hate when that happens. I understand your plight. Teehee...*gets a wee bit of sadistic satisfaction* But only a little bit.  
**

**6747 - ^_^! Thanks for your review.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - I know. That chapter was just jerking people up and down the emotional scale. Thanks for your review. Always appreciated.  
**

**spygrrl99 - I'm so glad you enjoy my dialogue. I try to write dialogue naturally (though I could never bring myself to write in the accents...I always feel a little silly doing that). I'm glad that me not writing the accents isn't a detriment to the tale.  
**

**Supfan - Ack, had to insert this thanks quickly as you reviewed just as I updated! I'm so glad you enjoy the Lt. I love the Cajun culture so much (what with all the research I'm doing in an effort to keep him genuine) and it makes me happy that you too appreciate his cultural heritage as well. Thanks so much for the review. They are much appreciated. ^_^  
**

**I know everyone was looking forward to the rest of Daryl's story about Sophia, but there was something needed addressed first. Don't worry, the chapter after this one is called Tremp Deux.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Faire Son Idée**

****Old Missy****

"O, most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus," she began softly. "People honor and invoke you universally, as the patron of hopeless cases, of things almost despaired of. Pray for me, for I am so helpless and alone. Please help to bring me visible and speedy assistance. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings, particularly in my desperation to know what it is I am meant to do and that I may praise God with you always. I promise, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, to always honor you as my special and powerful patron, and to gratefully encourage devotion to you by publishing this request." Before she added 'amen' to the end of the standard prayer, the Mother Superior hesitated long and hard, studying the feet of the crucified Jesus before her.

It had been months since the Sisters of the convent were parted from the rest of their convent Sisters and she had given up hope that they'd ever return when Lafayette arrived at the gates.

Before he arrived, Father O'Rourke had cautioned them to remain within the walls, that he had seen things beyond the walls that were not God's creations.

There wasn't anything at Veil of Tears for them to hear news of what had happened outside their walls and their last van was taken by Sister Catherine and Sister Mary Theresa as the two younger nuns decided to head into the town to see what had become of their Sisters.

They didn't come back and that was when Mother Superior Philomena knew something had gone horribly wrong.

Lafayette never gave her particulars on what was going on, but he was very adamant in cautioning the Sisters to remain vigilant of their convent wall.

With every word, every trickled bit of information that she gathered from the newcomers, she had come to a decision, which lead her to the church one final time in an effort for guidance that her decision was the right one.

"Something's gone wrong with the world and I accept that," she went on, praying to St. Jude, hands clasped delicately around her rosary. "It's God's will to strike down the wicked of the world and rebuild paradise in his image once more. I understand this and I'm willing to suffer to prove my faith. I know life isn't meant to be easy or clean. I try to keep my heart free of the things which burden the secular world and I know I suffer pride as my one true sin. But I am proud of my nuns, of Father O'Rourke and how brave and beautiful Annie Louise is. I'm grateful God brought her to my arms so that I might smooth her brow when the nightmares come to her. I am full of gratitude that He saw fit to bestow upon us Lieutenant Vancoughnett to put our troubled hearts at ease, to comfort me when I needed strength. But I'm praying to you now, St. Jude, to guide me through this lost cause. To give me a sign as to what I need to do.

There has to be a reason why God has left us here on earth to face the abominations at our gate, I'm just not sure what it is he means for us? Are we to carry on as we always have or must we adapt to this new world?

I try not to ask much of your divine grace or of God, but…now more than ever, I need a sign." She stared hard at Jesus on the cross, before quietly muttering. "Amen."

Crossing herself, she pushed to her feet and stood there at the altar for the longest time in silence.

Scoffing at herself, she laughed softly, hanging her head. What was she expecting? An angel to fall from the heavens and give her God's instructions on how to proceed? She was sure He had better things to be doing at the moment considering the world was now hell on earth.

"Mother Superior?"

Turning from the altar, she spied the sweet young Sister Mary Elizabeth standing at the end of the aisle, hands clasped before her and smiled warmly. "Yes, honey?"

"The Sisters are waiting."

"And the wall? Who's watching it?"

"Uh, that Mr. Dixon and Mr. Greene and Carol are on the gates for now."

"Okay, tell the Sisters and Father O'Rourke I'll be right there."

The young nun hesitated, before moving down the aisle towards her. "You…everything's okay, isn't it, Mother Superior? I mean, with your veil and everything—"

Smiling, she reached out and touched a warm hand to the young woman's upper arm as she approached. "Everything will be just fine, honey. I'll be inside in a moment to put your worries at rest."

"We…we worry about you, Mother Superior. Sister Mary Agnes…she thinks you," the young woman bowed her head, "she says you've lost faith."

"No, honey. Go on, everything will be just fine."

Sister Mary Elizabeth nodded. "Okay. I'll see you inside."

"Of course."

Long after the young woman left, long after the church returned to absolute, blissful silence, the Mother Superior turned back to Christ on his cross and smiled up at him.

Stepping out of the church, she was halfway across the lawns when the first drop of rain hit her bare forehead and she looked up at the grey sky overhead. Holding out her hands, she felt a few more drops pelt her skin, cooling it from the hot Georgian afternoon.

She wasn't fool enough to think it was a sign, but it was a welcoming comfort to her.

Touching her damp hands to her wimple, she beamed.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Inside the convent, in the dining room the nuns all huddled, Father O'Rourke sitting at his spot at the end of the table.

Father O'Rourke was an odd man, to say the least, he was built sturdy and powerful, came from a inner city mission in Boston to take over as their priest, but he seemed a little wicked at times. Like he was used to crass humour and low brow fun.

She liked him, despite all this. He was comforting in his strength and charming smiles. She only wished he would shave that funny little goatee beard of his, it was so unbecoming of a gentleman.

Everyone was quiet, waiting as the damp Mother Superior took her spot at the head of the table.

She could see the fear in everyone's eyes and smiled kindly at them, soothing their worries, assuring them of good things to come.

"This is it, Sisters," she greeted simply. "We are sitting here at the world's end."

Some the nuns sat back in their seats at this announcement, but their Mother Superior went on, just as calm as ever.

"I'm not so arrogant as to make presumptions on God's plan for us," she said. "But I've prayed on this matter for weeks now and there is no doubt in my mind that the apocalypse is upon us. The world has changed drastically and we are clinging to traditions, ways of our past that have no room in this new world."

At the end of the table, Father O'Rourke pushed away from the table, hooking his arm over the back of his chair, giving her his undivided attention.

"Today I removed my veil and I remembered what it was like to be a woman of God. I wasn't some nun in a habit, I wasn't biding my time in my study pouring over the bible and ruining my eyesight. I was a human being, devout as ever to the Lord Almighty. I'm just a woman, Sisters, as are you. We're passionate, tender, sometimes fickle creatures, but we're no better or worse than man, we just devote our love and passion to a more ethereal being.

The world has changed, Sisters, and we will change with it if need be. No more habits, no more wimples and veils, we will wear pants and shirts and we will all carry weapons about us. But the rest of the dead lived not again until the thousand years were finished. This _is_ the first resurrection. Revelation 20:5 has written many times of this moment, you've read it with your own eyes, most of you have seen the abominations outside our walls. The dead have risen, they are walking.

I'm not going to talk much of God and His plans for us, but if we're still here on earth and the apocalypse is upon us, then there's a good reason. We're meant to fight, to survive, to push through and find paradise awaiting us on the other side. Today I removed my veil and became both a woman and a warrior of God.

Now, I'm not going to assume many of you will so willingly shed your veils as well, but I'd like you to consider this. To come to the realization that we no longer fit into a world like this. That we need to grow and adapt to better serve God and man."

The table was silent for the longest time, before Father O'Rourke spoke.

"Your vows, Mother Superior…?"

"Our vows remain the same as always, Father. Only our attire and our rules about weapons will change."

Sister Joan was the first to shake herself from her thoughts, pulling her veil off and setting it on the table with a small grin, running a hand through her finger length blonde hair. "It gives me migraines anyways." She said playfully.

"God will understand if we still serve him in jeans," Sister Mary Claire added, removing her veil as well. "Given the times."

Sister Mary Monica laughed a little and took her veil off as well. "Truth is, I find it hard to get up on that wall in full skirts. The mobility will be nice for emergencies."

The table broke out into soft whispers and excited chattering, with all the nuns removing their veils, save one. Even Father O'Rourke yanked his collar off gently and added it to the growing pile of black and white on the table with a smile.

Sister Gertrude smiled up at the Mother Superior, still in her veil.

"I've lived sixty years in a veil," she said. "I'd like to die in it, if that's okay with you, Mother Superior."

She smiled at the elderly nun. "Of course it is. I'm not expecting everyone to like the idea of casual clothes." Addressing the rest of the table, she held up her hands to silence them. "Now, we will still perform our duties, Sisters. The wall will be walked, the chores done and hopefully we'll get our garden planted soon."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

"And then Beth showed me this thing, you have to, you have to, are you listening, Mother Mena?" Annie demanded.

The two of them were curled up later that evening after dinner in the doorway of the dorms, watching the rain as it beat down on the ground rhythmically.

Despite the rain the Georgian air was still muggy and they had curled up in the doorway to escape the heat of the dorms as the woodstove in the kitchen heated it almost unbearably. Carol stood behind them, holding baby Judith, hoping to cool them both before they passed out from the heat. The woman fanned the baby gently with her free hand, watching the rain fall peacefully.

"Of course, honey."

"Well, she showed me how to do this trick, you have to put your thumb like this…" giving up trying to do the trick, Annie wrapped her arms around the Mother Superior and curled in closer to her.

Only children ever seemed immune to the heat, and Annie was no exception as the little girl sought out cuddling with her mother figure over cool air and this brought a little smile to the Mother Superior's lips.

"Mother Mena, you look very pretty today." The girl cooed.

Touching a hand to the girl's hair, she smoothed it down. "Beauty is in the eyes of God, honey."

"Well, he must have been looking real hard at you when you were born, then." The little one replied.

Laughing, the Mother Superior, touched a hand to her forehead. "I think you've been spending too much time around that Lieutenant of yours."

"Why?" Annie asked, sticking her legs out to let the rain wash over her bare feet.

"Because you're getting his wicked sense of impropriety."

"I don't know what that means," Annie replied.

"Let's hope you never do." The woman shot back playfully.

Behind her she heard Carol sigh softly and turned her head, finding the woman flashing her an awkward grin.

"I'm sorry, Carol. Would you like to sit? We can squeeze over a bit."

The woman shook her head. "No, that's okay. I can't seem to sit still much anymore."

"You must have been through the firepit with your group out there," the Mother Superior said.

Carol adjusted the wee one in her arms. "No more than others, I'm sure."

"Seems times are tough all over."

"I'm just glad to still be alive. Do you find that strange?"

"Not at all." She replied. "I find it reassuring that you have such an attitude given the circumstances."

Noticing a movement coming from their left, Mother Superior watched Merle approach. She had given Father O'Rourke orders that the man could be left on his own, but the Sisters were given sterner orders to keep clear of him unless they were in pairs.

The man didn't scare her as much as she knew he wished he did, he sort of reminded her of a scruffier, angrier teddy bear.

"Excuse me, ladies." He greeted with a charming grin. "I know I'm not welcome this close to the dorms, but I was hoping I could chew on your ear for a bit, Sister."

The Mother Superior pursed her lips, giving him a long, hard look. "You may. Let's go into the church where I'm sure you'll mind your language..." Unwrapping her arms from around Annie, she stood up and stepping out into the rain, lead the man towards the church.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Faire Son Idée** – To make up one's mind.


	17. Tremp Deux

**AFishNameSushi - Ehehehe, Lost reference...Andrew Lincoln is the best choice I think they could have ever made for Rick. He's so fucking wonderful...(love me some Rick!).  
**

**Lilone1776 - Merle is never up to anything helpful to anyone but Merle...maybe Daryl, but mostly Merle. ^_^  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - May I just begin by saying your rambling retro-reviews made me laugh. You are indeed the Crowned Princess/Prince of the ramble. I quite enjoyed them! Mostly I enjoyed your fractured French (I never took French in school, but being Canadian some of my French knowledge is through osmosis. Example: Zesty mordant isn't a flavour of chip, it's both the English and French word for 'zesty' this I learned from the Trailer Park Boys, but I digress). Don't worry about your French, I can't speak it fluently, but I can read some of it (comes from bilingual signs). As for your recent review, I thank you, I know I skip a lot of OC rambling crap too. I wouldn't blame people for skipping mine (I wouldn't have written the chapter except that some people were curious about the Old Missy's decision and I have to elaborate for them). Wow, writing you a book that you neither asked for, nor probably would appreciate. Sorry.  
**

**Axelrocks - No, but I have watched Mallrats in which Michael Rooker's bare ass is on display...it was kind of nice...it was kind of really nice. Made my day. (I love how you're talking about a beautiful character who was bad but didn't want to be and I'm all 'bare ass'). You just know I'm full on class.  
**

**spygrrl99 - I'm glad I could make your lunch break enjoyable. Usually my lunch break is made enjoyable by the lunch lady actually being pleasant instead of the raging mega beast that she is...but that's neither here nor there. I'm glad you enjoy my OC's. I really didn't intend for the dirty buggers to take over most of the story...I'll have to start dialing them back...or maybe killing them off...  
**

**GG - I couldn't see a woman of God giving up her faith so easily. Besides the Old Missy seems like the stubborn sort that wouldn't go down without putting up one hell of a fight.  
**

**LampPostInWinter - Thanks for your review!  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Oh no, my story is getting predictable! *loads shotgun* well there's only one thing to do now...kill someone off...(is Spy kidding...who knows). As always, thanks for the review! ^_^  
**

**Brazen Hussy - Ah, a fellow Merle (and Michael Rooker) fan huh? I just can't see him being a one dimensional monster, I want my Merle to be a good guy wrapped in a layer of hurt, wrapped in a layer of protective brick wall, wrapped in a layer of Southern redneck, wrapped in a layer of scruff, because this is how I believe he is. The show does a good job of giving him both good and bad qualities and I just want to bring out some of his good qualities in time through this work. Thanks for your review, fellow Merle fans get a special place in my heart. ^_^  
**

**Anyways, I noticed over on tumblr that a follower of mine whatluulikes was a little down the other day and I thought 'mah that's horrible'. I don't know if you read this story, whatluulikes, but if you do this chapter is dedicated to you. Because I hope it makes you a little happier even if it's only a wee bit happier.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Tremp Deux**

****Daryl****

"Carol had a little girl," Daryl began suddenly, eyes on the raging rainstorm outside. "Named Sophia…"

He had no idea where the decision to share had come from. Daryl wasn't big on sharing, but the Cajun talked so damned much that it felt natural to share his own story.

Now Daryl didn't have many stories. He wasn't interesting enough to have yarns to spin or tales to weave. Merle was the one with the stories and Merle loved to tell them. Unfortunately all Merle's stories ended with someone getting their teeth knocked out or kicked in or broke off.

But this story? This one was Daryl's and Carol's and the Cajun, for as odd as he was, could be trusted with it.

It was something sacred, something one should rightly share around a warm campfire in the hopes to guide or inform, or maybe just to impart, but it was something Daryl unconsciously decided to reveal to the strange soldier.

Not much of a talker, Daryl suddenly threw his mind into overdrive, struggling to find a way to explain the story in as little words as less, without blathering on like a little bitch. He fidgeted with his hands, crossbow set on the counter at his side as he figured a way to proceed.

Thankfully during this time the Lieutenant was quiet, watching him patiently.

"I don't know just how old she was," Daryl went on. "Never thought to ask. But she was young, maybe ten, eleven? Twelve, could have been. And one day we were on the highway, heading for Fort Benning when the rad hose in Dale's RV went.

Dale was this old man, don't know where he was from or where he was heading when the world went to hell, but he was good guy. Knew everything seemed like."

_Thought I was decent._ He thought to himself, not daring to add the bit that it was Daryl who put the man down.

"Anyways, while we were stopped to fix it, I had gone ahead to scout the road, while the others went through abandoned vehicles for things we could use.

Suddenly this group of walkers was upon us, big herd, maybe fifty, sixty of them.

I had gotten caught up helping this black guy named T-Dog who had cut himself open and was basically chum in shark infested waters and then Sophia was just…gone."

Picking at a hangnail on his thumb, Daryl eyed the rain filled sky outside quietly.

"She was this lanky, blonde thing. Big blue eyes, freckles and quiet. Most kids with daddies like hers are. The day she went missing she was wearing this bright blue shirt with this…rainbow or some shit on it and…I thought I'd find her, you know? Like the world had gone to shit, but there was still hope that it didn't take youth and innocence like it did all the sinners, but…Carol cried herself to sleep for about a week after Sophia went missing.

Everybody these days are so caught up in their own little world, no one really cared for Carol or what she was going through.

Carol's a nice woman. She had finally gotten that asshole of a husband in the ground where he belonged and she was kind of becoming this other thing, this…

You know how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly? She was kind of like that.

And I wanted to find Sophia for her. For her, maybe a little selfishly for me too, but…

I thought that day I found the Cherokee roses, that it was a sign. That maybe Sophia was out there, just…hiding under a front porch or in a car, waiting for someone to come along and scoop her up, take her back to her mama.

Carol was a good ma, too."

"How were they a sign?" The Lieutenant broke in softly as Daryl trailed off into a dead silence.

"What?" He snapped a little.

"Those roses, how were they a sign?"

Not wanting to share the story with the Cajun, Daryl glared a little at him. "They just are."

"Alright, I get you, _petit cabri_, go on."

Waiting for a moment to gather his thoughts, Daryl watched as a walker passed by the window, tensing, hand halfway to his crossbow.

But in the rain it was confused and ambled off into the woods, away from the gas station.

There was no point going out in the wet and rain to get sick, so he went on.

"Herschel had this barn," he began ominously, "on his property that was filled with walkers. He thought they could be cured or something, like they had a chance.

So one day Shane flips out, opens the doors and all these shuffling bastards pour out.

We took down every single one of them.

After the shots stopped, this sound, like the angry mewling of a puppy, came out of the barn and she stepped out into the sunlight on unsteady legs.

One of those ugly son of a bitches had chewed on her neck.

I guess Rick put her down, I can't really remember, I was too busy holding Carol back. Fool woman would have run right to her death if I hadn't stopped her.

After that I knew we were all fucked. Seemed like Sophia was that one piece of the dam that was holding reality back. Without her things really went to shit. Herschel fell off the wagon, Rick changed a little for the worse, Randall showed up, Dale died and we lost the farm to walkers."

He cleared his throat. "She would have been real pretty if she lived to grow up." He confessed. "Like her mama, I suppose."

The gas station was quiet, the sound of the rain and the idle tap of the drops on the windows the only sound.

Finding it uncomfortable, Daryl began to chew on his hangnail, watching the skies for a sign that the rain was going to end.

"Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality." The Lieutenant said suddenly.

Daryl pondered this for a moment, before looking over at the soldier, pinning him with a hard glare. "That's the dumbest shit I ever heard."

The Cajun laughed jovially. "That's Emily Dickinson, _couyon_!"

"I don't care who she is, she probably never had walkers waiting at every turn to chew on her ass," Daryl replied. "Talking about immortality and love…fuck."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

It wasn't until the next morning that the rain stopped.

By then both Daryl and the Lieutenant had napped on and off in the gas station, so both men were ready to get back on the road.

They headed back towards the area on the highway where the RV had broken down, where everyone met up after the farm fell. It seemed a safe place to attempt to start looking anyways, considering the others might get it in their heads to meet up there, or at least leave a note or a sign of where to go.

Driving down the damp highway in companionable silence, Daryl pondered the Lieutenant's story about Eloise and his words from the previous night.

He wasn't sure what he and Carol had. The woman was friskier than a mare in season lately and the way she looked at him was a little disturbing. Not because it was unwelcome, but because she looked at him like he held the answers to the entire mess they were in, like somehow he'd make things better or get them out of it.

It put just a little bit of pressure on a man.

Suddenly he understand why Rick did so much for that harpy of a wife of his whenever she had screeched at him to make changes or decisions.

Not that Carol would ever screech at him, she was a gentle kind of woman who never asked for much.

But it was that anticipation of her needs that drove him.

Carol needed protection, Carol needed Sophia with her in her arms, Carol needed to be happy and well fed, Carol needed to be warm and loved.

Carol needed love.

It burned down to that.

The woman needed someone to keep her safe and warm from the cold when winter came and they were suffering the change in temperature. She needed someone to give her a reason to smile and to go on in a world gone to pot.

But.

But Daryl couldn't be that man. He wasn't built like that. Men like Rick or Glenn or even the Lieutenant were built to hold and caress and reassure. Daryl was a work horse, nothing more and nothing less.

He did what he had to do and he may not have any grace or flair while he did it, but the job got done.

That wasn't to say that Daryl could bear the idea of a more deserving man being with Carol. Someone like Rick or the Lieutenant wouldn't appreciate her the way Daryl did.

And he did. He appreciated her more than she'd ever know.

He liked that she would think to bring him food on watch, or that she would seek him out in a crowd if only to stand near him, he liked that she seemed to gravitate to him, despite how cruel he had been to her in the wake of Sophia's death.

Those days hadn't been his best. He was miserable and not just because he failed the little girl, but because he felt like an asshole keeping Carol's hopes up when her baby was already dead and gone. He loathed the Cherokee roses he had brought her, he felt like somehow he had been torturing her with flowers while Sophia stumbled around in a barn with other rotting corpses.

Maybe he needed her more than she needed him. She made him feel human.

"You ever find it funny that it's the end of the world and yet you're still driving on the right side of the road?" The Lieutenant asked suddenly.

Daryl snorted.

"I mean, you could pull over onto the left, put a posh accent on and pretend we're in England. Make it feel like a vacation." The man chuckled. "Hell, it's the end of the world, I could walk around with no pants on and no one would say a damned thing."

"_I'd_ say a damned thing. Keep your goddamned pants on around me, dumb ass." Daryl growled, lips twitching up ever so.

The Cajun laughed. "Ooh-ye! Could you imagine walking around a convent with no pants on?"

"That woman of yours would tan your ass with a broom," Daryl pointed out.

Sobering a little, the Lieutenant coughed. "She would that. Tough little thing, isn't she?"

"Sure is. I saw her eyeing my scruff the other day, thought she was going snatch me bald headed. That your doing?"

The Cajun laughed again and began pawing through the glove compartment. "Naw, came that way. Pre-packaged deal." He pulled out a couple of condoms. "Hey, _Texian_, safety first, yeah?" Tossing the condoms onto the bench seat between them, the Cajun kept going through the little stowaway cupboard. "Must have been the sons truck," he pointed out, pulling a lacy thong out from under the heavy, fake leather bound driver manual. "Or the American Gothic life is a lot kinkier than I imagined."

Daryl glanced over at the thong wielding Cajun with a sneer.

"Hey, wanna see something?" The Lieutenant asked, rolling down the window as they approached a curve ahead sign. "I'll make you a bet, _Texian_. I hook these drawers over that sign, you have to tell me a story."

"What kind of story?" Daryl growled.

"Any story I want."

Pressing his foot hard against the accelerator, Daryl smirked a little as he coaxed the truck up to ninety. "Deal, but if you miss you have to tell me something."

"You're on, _Texian_."

Stretching the waistband, the man let the underwear fly as they blew past the sign and Daryl slammed on the brakes, reversing the truck so that they could inspect the results.

As they pulled back to view the sign, Daryl snorted. "I win."

Looking from the bare sign to the ground where there was no sign of the underwear, the Lieutenant shrugged. "I didn't take the air suction velocity of the truck into account…"

"Yeah, right." Daryl put the truck into first and pulled away from the side of the road.

"Well, what do you want to know, _petit cabri_?" The Cajun asked.

Daryl chanced a quick glance at the man beside him, taking his eyes off the road long enough to study the soldier.

"Where was your daddy when you were growing up?"

"Doing eleven to twelve at The Farm for rape." The Lieutenant said, staring out the window. "After that? I don't know...don't much care."

Sneering at the road, Daryl regretted asking. This was why he never spoke, he sometimes said or asked dumb assed things.

"The thing was, my ma didn't like to see me much, never visited her at the hospital because she said I looked like him." Rolling the window back up, the Lieutenant sighed. "Once I learned what happened, when I got older, I suddenly realized that I was half the reason my ma was always trying to escape. My _Mamere_ said it wasn't my fault, that if my ma really wanted a life without me, she wouldn't have given me to my grandmother to raise. Said I was one the best things in her life, but that I just happened to remind her of darker times."

The Cajun continued digging absently through the glove compartment as he continued his story. "Imagine going your whole life wearing the face of your mother's rapist. Knowing that every time she saw you, she was reminded of the worst moment in her life to date and that it really wasn't anybody's fault but the man who did it to her."

Daryl's grip tightened on the wheel as he turned off the secondary highway onto the main highway, heading towards the pile up of cars where the RV first broke down.

"I used to worry, when I was a young man, that I'd become my daddy. Used to keep my distance from women almost like I was already guilty of the crime. But then I read this book on 'nature versus nurture'. Is man born with the urge to hurt or does he learn it through experiences and actions? And I decided then and there that I wasn't a monster. That just by worrying about hurting a lady, meant I had the conscience of a good man. I'm not a rapist, I never could be one. Those women back at the convent, they're my women. I love them and I'll do anything for them, even on days when I do miss the warmth of a lady in my bed, I'd never think to even think of them in any way but the pure creatures they are. I would never hurt those women, any woman, all women. We men are not our daddies, as much as we seem to think we have to be, we're our own man. We can choose our own path, choose life or death or good or bad. We can be lovers or fighters or good cooks and creative artists. But we are not our fathers. And that's for true."

Daryl squinted over at the man. He wasn't sure if he should add an 'amen' or a smart assed remark, but he somehow knew that what the weird Cajun soldier had said meant something. That it was something to ponder.

Seeing the mash up of cars rising on the road ahead, he knew he'd have to ponder the Cajun's words later. For now they had a trail to pick up before it went cold.


	18. Passe'

**MollyMayem84 - I always thought Daryl reacted the way he did because he felt a lot of guilt over giving Carol hope when she was ready to let go. Like maybe he felt like he was hurting her more by trying to help, which is why he reverted back to being mean 'I-don't-need-nobody' Daryl.  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - Haha, I know! A lot of the things they do on the show, I'm like 'why?' it's the end of the world, go nuts.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - MwahaMwahahahaha...ah, your reviews amuse me. Don't worry, I like to tease about killing people off, but I'd never do it just willy-nilly, that'd be stupid of me.  
**

**Brazen Hussy - Ah, no Merle in this chapter. I'm afraid. But he's in the next one and he's bad ass, so stick around.  
**

**GG - Yeah, Daryl just needs to see that he is actually the best thing in Carol's life right now (other than Little Asskicker). Because honestly, the man is adored and adores, you know he does.  
**

**Lilone1776 - I'm glad you thought the Sophia story was in character for Daryl. He doesn't talk much, so I was afraid to have such a long diatribe from him, but I tried to keep him in character, while having him tell his version of the story. Thanks for the review. It put my mind at rest.  
**

**AFishNamedSushi - I'd love to read a story you post. I'll most definitely review it too (though I suck at reviewing). And thanks for the props. I'm going to take those props and play Whose Line with them.  
**

**Axelrocks - Honeychild, I'm old enough to have seen both Boondock Saints in theatre...so I've actually seen Mr. Reedus' hinder on the big, big screen...and it was beautiful. (I love that we're talking asses back and forth, this pleases me). Anyways, you are always one of my favourite reviewers, so thanks and keep them coming! ^_^  
**

**I know, I know guys...this story is lacking Caryl...but I swear when all is said and done you'll be grateful you stuck around. I swear! ...all the damned time. (old jokes...oy)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Passe'**

****The Lieutenant****

They had pulled the truck up beside an old custard coloured car, when Daryl cut the engine and hopped out.

Scrambling to follow, the Lieutenant studied the car's front windshield as Daryl studied the area for signs of his people.

There was white paint on the windshield that was weathered until it was nearly unreadable.

Curious, the Cajun leaned down to read it better, squinting at the print.

"Sophia stay here, we will come every day…" he read aloud, before realizing it was left for the little girl Daryl was talking about. He straightened up quickly and cast a glance at the redneck. They must have left it for the little girl.

Daryl eyed the car, blues eyes dancing over the hood, but avoiding the message on the windshield. "Someone was here," he said. "We had left some food on the hood there and it's gone. Not saying it was any of my people, but…" he looked around, heading for the railing that separated the highway from the ditch.

The Lieutenant followed quietly, hopping the railing as Daryl had, following in his footsteps. "Where we off to now, _petit cabri_?"

Stopping at the edge of the woods, Daryl looked one way down the long line of sentinel-like trees that paused at the edge of the ditch, then the other way, squinting in the harsh glare of the sunlight.

It had stopped raining and the Georgian skies decided to fill with deep indigo and fluffy white clouds that parted for the sun. It would have been a beautiful day if it wasn't for the uggies.

"There's this church nearby, could be they took shelter there…" Daryl muttered, heading for the woods.

Pulling his rifle off his shoulder, the Lieutenant followed, marvelling at how the scruffy man could just keep going and going. Holding his rifle in the sling ready position, the Cajun studied the woods around them as they stepped through the barrier of trees into the sylvan world.

He was reminded of Robert Frost.

"And miles to go before I sleep," he muttered softly.

"What?" Daryl snapped.

"I think it was bird." The Cajun replied quickly.

The _petit cabri_ glanced over his shoulder quickly to give the Cajun soldier a hard glare, before they pushed through a crop of thorny bushes to reach the edge of a little creek bed.

On the other side of the creek an uggie waded absently through the water, moving towards no real end of its journey, just shuffling across the remnants of the American south in search of its next meal.

Taking a glance to ensure there was only one, Daryl shot the uggie and moved towards it to retrieve the bolt from its head.

Standing where they emerged from the underbrush, the Lieutenant watched as Daryl looked about at the woods surrounding them, before he moved back towards him.

"Come on," he said. "The church is just up the creek a ways."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Stepping into a boneyard, the Lieutenant shifted uncomfortably in the Georgian heat, though not by any effects of the sun. His _mamere_ used to tell him that if one stumbled and fell in a boneyard, they would die within the year.

Since there were now approximately 300,000,000 ways a man could die these days, he was especially worried.

"Mind your step, _Texian_." He warned the gruff man ahead of him.

"Don't be an old woman," Daryl grunted, indicating that he too was raised on a few old world superstitions. That or he was just being his natural friendly self.

Making their way across the cemetery quickly (or in the Cajun's case, carefully), they were mindful of the surrounding woods and the silence. Crashes and snaps of twigs were good signs that something with no real sense left in them was heading through the woods for them.

Hopping up the steps into the church, Daryl searched the small building from top to bottom, while the Lieutenant stood guard at the door. Studying the long, open distance between the church and the forest, the Cajun tensed as something crashed into the cemetery clearing, followed by a lumbering mass of uggies.

He counted at least twenty of them, all chasing something small that was speeding its way towards the church.

"_Cabri_? We've got a minor problem!" He called into the church.

Daryl joined him at the door, just as the thing the uggies were chasing scooted between them, scrambling into the church.

The lumbering undead were tripping up among the headstones, a few of the luckier ones made it through.

Hurrying back inside, Daryl and the Lieutenant grabbed hold of whatever heavy items they could and barricaded the doors on the inside, hoping to hold up from the uggies long enough to form a plan.

They managed to drag a heavy pew across the doors just as the first of the uggies thumped against it angrily.

"Fucking assholes," Daryl muttered.

The Lieutenant was eyeing the thing that caused the whole mess.

It cowered under a nearby pew, shaking on stubby little legs, whimpering pathetically.

"What's the plan, _Texian_?" He asked, kneeling to inspect the dog that had brought hell upon them.

He wasn't really sure of breeds. Couldn't tell a beagle from a poodle, but whatever kind of dog it was seemed unscathed and had ears almost as long as it was tall. Reaching out, he stroked the dog's muzzle cautiously, worried that it may have been bit in a place that he didn't see. It looked young, maybe just out of the puppy age and came up to his mid-shin, maybe lower.

The thing nudged its nose into the palm of his hand. It was scared nearly to death.

"Wait it out maybe?"

"What if all their fussing and hollering draws more our way?" The Lieutenant asked, pushing to his feet. "We'd be sitting ducks. Naw, best to let me do my thing."

"Naw, gunfire will only get the same results."

The Lieutenant chuckled and dropped his heavy bag on the floor of the church. "I have more than one ace in my hand, _couyon_." Reaching into his bag he pulled out a couple of tins the size of chaw tins and held one up for the redneck to inspect. "Blue grease," he stated. "Before we left logistics in Albany they were passing this out like food stamps."

"What is it?"

"What isn't it? Highly stable, highly incendiary compound that turns any party into a hell bath." The Lieutenant stood up with a grin. "You're not attached to this building are you?"

"No."

"Well, I'm going to hell for a number of sins, the most recent being theft, I think I can handle burning a church…for the cause."

"Burn it? And how do you expect us to get out, dumb ass, there's no backdoor."

"But there are windows."

Daryl studied the gunk in his hand, then the windows. "What's the plan?"

Kneeling, the Lieutenant inspected the puppy dog a little more, before scooping it up and tucking it into his bag, swinging it onto his back.

"What are you doing?"

"Can't leave a man behind, _Texian_."

"That dog is going to get you killed," Daryl growled.

"Semper fi, _petit cabri_. I got a code to adhere to. Now, you find a window that's furthest from the door, I'm going to spread some of this goop around."

Sneering distastefully, Daryl moved off to peer out the windows, looking for an uggie free one near the back, while the Lieutenant knelt to spread some of the blue grease around the floor in front of the door and on the pile of _detritus_ they had stacked up in against it with a scrap of cloth he tore off the bottom of his shirt.

In his pack the dog shifted, but was otherwise silent. It was probably scared so badly it was in shock.

Dragging some of the red carpet up to rest against the pile of crap, the Lieutenant smothered it in the blue grease as well, careful not to get any on his hands or his person. It was stable, but they had said back at logistics that once fire fell on it the crap burned like the fires of Hades.

They hadn't had a chance to use the blue grease yet and he wasn't sure just what it did, all the told him was that it burned and burned and burned, and not sand, nor water could extinguish the flame until it ran out of either oxygen or combustible materials. He didn't want to be the _couyon_ who found out the hard way just how hard it was to extinguish.

Daryl dragged a pew over to the area just under the window he chose and stood on the armrest to peer out, giving the all clear to the Lieutenant who nodded.

"Alright," he said. "I'm going to set this stuff on fire, you break the window and make a run for it back to the highway."

"What about you?"

"I'll stay behind long enough to let the uggies in, make sure they're heading inside here and walking through the fire, then I'll be right behind you."

Daryl sneered. "Fuck you, Cajun. I'll be the bait."

"Fuck you back, _couyon_. I've got longer legs to make the dash faster. 'sides," he added with a smirk. "I kind of want to see how this stuff burns, I've been waiting months to use it."

"Fine," Daryl snarled. "But I'm waiting at the tree line for you. Running like a pussy wouldn't make me feel very comfortable in this situation."

"Your choice, I suppose. But if we get separated for any reason, we'll regroup at the highway, yeah?"

"Deal."

"Okay, then. Oorah, _Texian_."

"Whatever." The man grumbled, stalking over to his chosen window.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Waiting until he heard Daryl break the glass, the Lieutenant pulled some of the blockade away from the door, enough to give him some time, but also to allow the uggies to push open the door a bit.

He pulled out his matchbook and tore one off.

Striking the match, he inhaled to calm himself.

"Marie,_ jolie catin_, give her hell, _cher_." He prayed softly to the Voodoo Queen, before flicking the match at the pile of junk in front of the door that the uggies were now pushing open even further.

The instant the flame licked at the blue grease covered pew near him, it went up, every inch coated with blue grease flared up, just as the first uggie pushed into the church through the door.

Nimbly, the Lieutenant dashed back, heading for the altar, leading the uggies deeper into the church after him.

The first five caught fire instantly as their feet dragged over the blue grease coated floor, their drying, decaying bodies going up like tinder.

Waiting calmly until a good amount of the things were inside, heading his way, he hopped over to the pew and leaping up, hopped onto the sill to perch, making sure the rest or a good amount of uggies were inside.

As the nearest uggie reached his location, he hopped out and down, landing on the grass and high tailing it for the woods, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being followed.

So far so good.

Sliding to a halt on slippery leaves as Daryl suddenly appeared before him just inside the treeline, the Cajun chuckled. The redneck looked unimpressed, blue eyes narrowed, mouth drawn grimly.

"I'm not going to apologize," the Lieutenant bragged a little. "That plan was pretty cool."

"Come on," Daryl ordered.

"Never burned a church before…don't tell the Old Missy…"

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Back at the truck, they regrouped mentally, changing their plans as the Lieutenant fed the dog some of his rations.

The thing looked like it had been through hell, a mud puddle, two briar patches and a whole mess of leaves as it still shook from fright, but it ate his rations hungrily, coughing as it ate too fast.

Daryl, looking at the map, sneered at it.

"It's a bad idea," he stated.

"Probably, but if it does get us in trouble, I'll take the teeth. Can't just leave the poor little thing out here with these monsters." Stroking the dog's head, the Lieutenant smiled. "I'm going to call him T-Bert."

"You're fucking naming it?" Daryl growled.

"Sure. Needs a name."

"I think you're living in la-la land, Fay. That thing is trouble."

"This thing is a dog and he's scared…and looks like my Uncle T-Bert."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, Fay, but without balls I'd say T-Bert is a terrible name for a girl."

Leaning so that he could peer at where balls would be on a dog, the Lieutenant sighed. "Maybe he's sans balls, _Texian_."

"_She_ doesn't look old enough for anyone to have the time to take _her_ to a vet. I'd say your harem of women just grew by one, dumb ass."

Sticking out his chest a little affronted by the man's tone, the Lieutenant turned soft eyes on the dog. "Well, you're beautiful anyways, _cher_. I'm going to call you…" his mind drew a blank on a girl's name. "I'm going to call you something lovely when it comes to me."

"Come on, we'll head up to the farm to check for them there. Then we'll go back to the convent."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Passe'** – Go away, dog!

**Detritus** – Trash, garbage (this is actually a common word in English as well, but I did want to point out that Cajun's use it almost exclusively to mean garbage, trash and junk).

**Jolie Catin** – Pretty whore (Catin is actually a term of endearment in Cajun, despite it meaning whore in French, Cajuns often successfully refer to wives and girlfriends as 'jolie catin's' without getting their asses whooped).


	19. Matou

**Axelrocks - Oh gosh, Six Ways and Gossip were lovely. I'm actually personally fond of Deuces Wild...but only because I have a serious thing for the 50's, so greaser Norman was like the perfect character for me. (random tangent, but why are there not enough fanfics for Deuces Wild?...it's a damned shame. I may have to make this my next fanfiction project...).  
**

**Brazen Hussy - You asked for more Merle and I have given him to you! Enjoy this chapter!  
**

**Supfan - Gah, I know. Not enough Caryl indeed, but I'm building to something wonderful...just have to wade through actual plot and stuff first...ugh. Why can't I just write Caryl porn?!  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - How come it's always a bigger tearjerker when animals die in things and not humans? I always wondered about things like that. (Don't get me wrong, animals dying is horrible and sad, but humans... you know?) Also, rest assured I am not a fan of killing animals in my stories just to get the emotions up. I'm not a cheap writer like that. Besides, I don't think the Lt would stand to lose a little soldier in the heat of battle so easily.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Aw, puppies always love people who dislike them most. It's like a dog thing, isn't it?  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - I like the meaning too. The only time I've ever found where an insult is actually and endearment. Those Cajuns are cool, cool people.  
**

**RuinNyght - Thanks for the review! I shall keep on keeping on for as long as I can!  
**

**AFishNamedSushi - Gee, I hope you don't mind that I plug your story here...I hope that you don't get upset if I tell people to check out your wonderful story called You Got Your Memories right here in this very spot. I hope that it's cool with you if I tell people that it's a wonderfully written piece and that I love it. ^_^  
**

**spygrrl99 - I enjoy their banter as well. I think by this point Daryl has given up trying to hate the Lt. I think by this point, if I may point it out, I enjoy the fact that he calls the Cajun 'dumb ass' and likewise the Cajun calls him 'couyon', it's almost brotherly.  
**

**GG - HAHA! Girlfriend...I'll have to remember that...love it! Walkers, you know they're going to be everywhere and a handful of trouble to everyone...  
**

**Anyways, here's a Merle chapter for my fellow Merle fans. I couldn't help it, he's just such a complete and utter shit.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: Matou**

****Merle****

Leaning in a shadowy area of the wall, Merle watched the back gate.

It was probably the least thrilling location to be on watch, but it had to be done, he supposed.

Personally he preferred to be walking the wall, as it gave him more of a bird's eye view of the convent and the comings and goings there.

The back gate was a task for a hermit, you literally saw nobody and nothing.

Merle was a sociable person, he liked to see human beings and interacting with them, but the back gate was the worst possible place to be for someone like him.

He had gone to the Mother Superior the day before and asked her for permission to carry a weapon, to start work on a blade to replace the one lost from his stump.

The woman was actually very trusting, offering to find him something among the things the Lieutenant had collected. She said most of the weapons couldn't be used as they were run down and the Cajun was always in a working state with half of them, but she did find him a rusty old buck knife that he decided would be good enough for taking out walkers.

The woman also had an ass on her that could make a saint cry.

Of course this was something he kept to himself. The nun seemed like she'd tear his pecker off if she even knew what sordid thoughts were running through his head.

So until he could get a replacement blade made, he borrowed a long assed old bread knife from the kitchen. Anything that could pierce through a walker's skull was good enough for him.

As soon as the buck knife was wearable, he was out of there.

The convent wasn't anyplace he wanted to linger and his dumb assed brother went and got himself tangled up in that group of his.

Merle wasn't needed and he had the distinct feeling he wasn't wanted.

He didn't care. Everyone could kiss the whitest part of his ass as far as he was concerned.

Around noon Carol came out with a plate of food for him and a tin mug of water.

He took the water and eyed her carefully, before downing it.

"You want me to take over?" She asked softly.

"Naw, I'm good." He grunted, handing her back the mug to take up the plate. It was the same thick gruel-type stew that they seemed to eat all the damned time at the convent, but food was food so he sat on the ground to balance the plate on his lap so that he could use his good hand to eat with.

Carol slid onto the ground beside him quietly, eyes on skies over head.

Merle looked her over. She wasn't much to look at in his opinion. The woman was kind of plain with a long, upturned nose and thin lips. Then again, his brother wasn't winning any beauty pageants himself, so he supposed it was a sub-standard man with a sub-standard woman.

He honestly didn't think Daryl could get himself a bathing beauty, so Carol seemed to fit at least.

Carol looked over at him and offered a small smile.

Merle kept eating, cleaning his plate, before handing it back.

The two sat in silence, before Merle decided to break it.

"When Daryl was ten I brought him home a little mutt of a puppy dog," Merle said. "When our daddy found out about it, he drowned the thing in the bathtub, didn't think we could afford to feed it. I told Daryl that it ran away, didn't really have the heart back then to tell him what really happened. He loved that little mutt. So every day, he'd go out looking for it. Little dumb ass didn't ever catch on to what daddy did to his mutt."

Carol eyed him with mild disgust, but Merle didn't care, he went on casually. "Daryl gets his hopes up too high. The boy's one of those jack ass optimists. Every now and then you have to check him or he'll take it too hard."

"There's nothing wrong with being an optimist, Merle." Carol replied calmly. "People need hope."

"Bullshit," Merle replied. "People need to stop living with their heads up their asses. Daryl included."

"Maybe you need to pull your head out of your own rear, Merle, and see that your little brother grew up to be a good man."

"Dixon's aren't good men."

"Daryl is," Carol insisted firmly. "And I have a feeling that deep down you are too."

Sneering at the woman, Merle wasn't sure if he should tell her off or ignore her remarks. She didn't know him, and she damned well had no idea what kind of a man he was.

"Don't give me that look, Merle Dixon." She stated firmly. "I've seen plenty of mean in my life and you have it in spades. I'm not scared of the stink eye anymore." Climbing to her feet, she looked down at him quietly. "And I'd appreciate it if you stopped calling Daryl a 'dumb ass'. He's a lot smarter than people think."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

"You have a big head."

Merle looked over at the little runt of a girl who had skipped over to sit beside the gate. She didn't say a word until that moment and he didn't encourage her to talk. He didn't mind kids, but he hated the yappy ones.

"Thanks." He grunted.

"Are you mean?" She asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

The girl was quiet, thinking his response over, before she replied with a quick, "are you really?"

"Sure. I'm mean as a snake."

"Is Mr. Daryl really your brother?"

"Sure is."

The girl was quiet again, playing with the tall dead grass that had grown against the wall before the winter killed it off.

"You have a name or what, little sparrow?" Merle growled.

"Annie," she replied softly.

"Annie? You like that name?"

She shrugged.

"Well, makes no difference," Merle said. "I once knew a woman named Sparkles."

Of course he didn't tell the kid that Sparkles was a stripper that went home with you if you dropped enough green in her G. Merle was uncouth, but even he knew there were some things kids didn't need to be privy to.

The little girl laughed.

"Yeah, dumb name, right?" He asked.

"A little." She replied.

"Annie Louise," Sister Joan scolded from the wall behind them. "You're not supposed to be outside without someone."

The little girl jumped up. "I am with someone. Mr. Merle."

"You'd better get inside, Mother Superior will be furious." The nun went on.

Annie screwed her face up. "Who cares? She never lets me outside to play! All I get to do is sit inside and read the smelly old bible!"

Merle laughed at the nun's reaction as her face went from shocked to enraged to embarrassed and back to shocked.

"Annie Louise Miller!" Sister Joan scolded. "You'd best hope I don't climb down from this wall, Little Missy!"

"I don't care!"

"You sour little sprout," Sister Joan went on. "I'm coming down now."

Sticking her tongue out, the little girl turned and fled back in the direction of the dorms, long black dress flowing out behind her.

Sitting on the wall, Sister Joan sighed heavily. "That girl is destined to be the death of us all. I swear."

Merle eyed the nun with a smirk. "She's got it in her, huh?"

"She's got the devil in her, indeed. It's that Cajun. He lets her run wild, won't take her in hand like he should."

"Is she his?"

"No."

"Then why is it his business to punish the brat?" Merle growled.

"Because he's the only one she listens to."

Studying the woman, Merle took in her bare head and the golden hair that she had kept hidden under that stupid hat thing the nuns wore. She was the fourth nun he noticed without the hat and it seemed suspicious to him.

"What's going on around here?" He demanded. "Why are you all going around with naked heads?"

"We removed our veils," she said simply.

"Yeah, I gathered that much. Why?"

"Mother Superior thinks we need to adapt to this new world."

"Breaking with tradition, huh?" Merle asked with a smooth grin. "Now there's something worth breaking, I'm sure."

Rising to her feet, the nun tsked at him. "Mr. Dixon, I have a wall to walk."

Leaning against the wall casually, Merle smiled after her. "You'll be back."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

He was in the infirmary later that night working on his new blade, when the Mother Superior stepped inside.

She looked about at the disorder of his cot and the multitude of broke assed weapons he had stocked up and was trying to repair to the best of his ability, before she moved to perch daintily on the cot beside his.

"Mr. Dixon," she greeted in that posh Georgian accent of hers. "You have quite the nest here."

"I'm a magpie, what can I say?" He replied.

The woman smiled.

Merle liked the looks of the woman. She was his kind of saucy looking minx and since she removed her veil to reveal only a sparse amount of grey in her dark hair, he pegged her age better at forty something and she appealed to him even more than she had when he thought she was just some young looking old broad.

Of course, she didn't seem the type that would take his shit, so he kept his dirty thoughts to himself in regards to her.

"I was thinking maybe you'd like to join us in the dining room this evening for dinner." She said.

He looked at her quietly.

"Sister Joan has told me how much help you've been to her on the back gate and the wall lately. I thought it time you were given a formal invitation to join us for a meal."

"Finally get an invite into the hen house, huh Sister?" Merle asked.

"Don't think it's open season, Mr. Dixon. This is just a meal invitation." The woman replied.

Merle beamed. He really loved the hellfire the woman had in her and he loved a challenge even better. "If you wanted to have dinner with old Merle all you had to do, little darling, was come on out here with your plate and we could have had a nice meal together."

The woman eyed him for a moment, before she smiled softly and settled her hand on his knee. "I'll tell you what, honey," she began, leaning in and whispering sweetly. "How about after dinner, you and I get together just the two of us and we head on over to the church where it's nice and quiet and I get down on my knees," she trailed off with a wicked grin.

Merle smiled a little at her and leaned in a little closer to her.

"And I say a little prayer for your soul?" The nun finished, slapping his knee a little harder than needed.

"Are nuns allowed to cock tease men like that? Because you're killing me," Merle snarled, wondering where the hell the woman had even learned to torture a man like that – and secretly wondering where the hell she even learned about blow jobs.

The woman laughed blithely. "Oh, honey, you are an old tomcat, aren't you? Come on now, let's get to dinner." She pushed to her feet, offering him a kind hand up.

Merle refused the hand, standing up on his own stubbornly. "You know," he began, following her to the door, "there are better things to do on your knees then pray, Sister."

The woman glanced back at him with a blank, innocent look. "Nothing better than prayer, Mr. Dixon."

"Yeah, nothing better." He remarked dryly.

Walking behind the nun about three paces, Merle studied her ass under the habit. It swished so beautifully, he had to imagine it was a nice ass under all that black cloth.

Fuck it'd been too long for him. Was it too much for him to ask for one decent lay before he died? God knew he needed one.

"Mr. Dixon my attributes are my own, mind your wandering eyes." The woman stated, not even looking back at him.

He scowled at the back of her head. He wondered if that weird as fuck Cajun had better luck prying the head nun's legs apart, because he was certainly getting nowhere with her.

"What's with you nuns, anyways?" Merle growled. "God gives you an entire playground down there and you think you have to keep it to yourselves just to impress him?"

"It's not about using the 'playground' God has given us, Mr. Dixon," the woman replied calmly. "It's about proving our devotion to him by refraining from weaknesses of the flesh."

"Bullshit."

"Bull true. An orgasm is easy to achieve. Refraining from the temptation of seeking the means to achieve one is the hard part."

"Sounds cowardly."

The woman gave him a funny look. "You are an odd duck, aren't you, Mr. Dixon?"

"I don't mean to be. Just the times, I guess." He replied.

She nodded. "Dead people walking around would probably make me an odd duck as well."

"Give it time."

Spinning on him before they reached the door to the dorms, the woman placed a small hand against his chest to stop him. "Mr. Dixon, may I ask you something? Given that you don't know me and don't owe me anything, I have no right to ask, but…may I?"

He studied her for a moment, sneer on his lips. "Okay."

"I want you to know I'm aware of your desire to leave us, but I'd like you to consider staying here with us."

Merle shifted on his feet. Other than the Governor, no one ever really wanted him around except Daryl. He wasn't sure what to make of that. It almost felt like she was fucking with him, but a nun wouldn't do that, would she? "Why?" He growled.

"We're not warriors by any measure, but…times being what they are, I thought you might be inclined to stay on here, help us out a little bit. The sisters here could use the protection a man like you could offer."

Glancing around at the late Georgian evening, Merle sighed. "Ain't nothing a bunch of nuns like you could offer me in return, though, is there?"

"Please, just think about the offer, Mr. Dixon?" The woman insisted. "And I'll try to think of something we can offer you in return."

"It better be something worthwhile," Merle replied gruffly. "Because there's not much keeping me here once my blade is finished." With that he pushed past the woman, heading into the dorms for a meal.

He wasn't sure how he felt about staying. It had never been in his head to stay longer than his recovery and he wasn't sure about staying at a place where all the pussy was locked up tighter than Fort Knox, but…if the offer was good, he wouldn't be dumb enough to just throw the offer in her face. After all, where else did he have to go? He saw what the Governor did to maverick's he came across, hell Merle himself took out a few loners himself, pillaging their corpses for ammo and weapons and anything else of use.

The times being what they were, were not meant for mavericks and loners, they were made for tribes and clans. That was how America was before the white settlers came and that was how it would be long after the last of the walkers fell.

Humanity was about to either be utterly abolished or it was going to be rebuilt by groups of people who fought their way back up onto the top of the food chain.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Matou** - Tomcat


	20. En D'oeuille

**LL - Hehe 'quality time with his remaining hand'...you made me laugh. Thanks for that.  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - I love how everyone feels bad that Merle can't bury his bone...it's like they all feel his pain or something. Thanks for the review!  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Interesting that you'd think he'd be a one dimensional monster and have absolutely no conscience when it comes to nuns who helped save his life...interesting...  
**

**Lilone1776 - I think Merle and the Lt might get into it if the Cajun ever found out just what Merle's been trying with the Old Missy. But yeah, I think Merle could be of some good kicking around the convent if he decides to stay.  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - I know. When the horse bit it (or got bit I should say) in season one I was a lot more horrified then when someone else gets it on the show. I was really rooting for the thing. V_V  
**

**GG - I think the thing about Merle is that all we've seen of him on the show was coked out Merle in the first season and 'enemy' Merle who just happened to have fallen in with the wrong crowd. I think there's a lot about him we don't know. I hope he sticks around long enough for us to get a better look into his character. He is fascinating.  
**

**Brazen Hussy - What is it about Merle that is kind of sexy? I don't know...but he kind of is. Maybe it's because he's bordering on being the villain in this show (I love villains so hard). Of course he is still redeemable, I think, he just needs to work on it a little bit.  
**

**Axelrocks - Carol has really toughened up since her dick of a husband died. I think she's a much bigger bad ass than some of the women on the show. She isn't always looking for a fight or trouble, she just steps up a lot to do what needs to be done and that's why I respect her as a character.  
**

**Supfan - I don't think Merle is so one sided as people think. He's a real shit, believe me, but I think - like any human being - he has his intricacies and subtleties and while he is hard to get on with, I think he isn't all evil. After all, no one ever really is, are they?  
**

**Okay, I'm going to have to admit I can't recall the name of the dude from Tyreese's group and I have no real interest to look that shit up. His name is Max here. Because I'm extremely lazy.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: En D'oeuille**

****Daryl****

"And Andy said 'boy don't you lose your head, cuz to tell you the truth, I've been with her myself'."

They had been driving for all of five minutes, when the Cajun decided to take over the job of the radio.

That dog the weird fucker had 'rescued' was lying on the truck bench seat between them, head on Daryl's lap, big brown eyes on his every move.

Honestly, Daryl was ready to drive the truck into the first tree he saw that looked big enough to end it all.

"That's the night that the lights went out in Georgia, that's the night that they hung an innocent man. Well don't trust your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer, cuz the judge in the town's got bloodstains on his hands."

"Yo, Vicki Lawrence, shut your mouth," Daryl grunted. "Got a damned dog hogging my lap space, dumb assed Cajun caterwauling in my ear…"

The Lieutenant chuckled. "I'm sorry, _Texian_. I just miss having music on the road is all."

"And I miss sleeping in on Sundays and not smelling like shit. We're all making sacrifices."

Snorting the Cajun beamed, reaching over to stroke the dog's back. "Yeah, because I bet you were real big on using the lavender and rosemary shower gel before all this went down."

Daryl was no longer paying attention to the man, slowing down the truck as he spied about thirty walkers heading down the highway towards them. He stopped the truck completely.

"What now?" The Lieutenant asked.

"I'm going to kick your ass out here and have you sing them to death," Daryl grunted, putting the truck into reverse before the herd noticed them. "We'll go around, I know a back way."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

It was late afternoon by the time they made it to the gates of the Greene farm and Daryl was anxious.

They had lost a few that night and he wasn't really eager to see what was left of them.

Besides, he wasn't entirely sure the walkers had completely cleared the area. He knew they migrated, just kept heading in one direction as a herd, but he didn't know for sure if they had kept moving.

Turning the engine off, Daryl let the truck roll to a gentle, quiet stop just inside the gate, eyeing the farmstead and the area surrounding for walkers.

He could remember sitting in nearly the same spot on Merle's chopper watching the barn as it burned to the ground. That night wasn't pleasant and it seemed to be the start of all their problems.

Well, they had problems before, but that was when things got infinitely worse.

Finding no walkers visible and the house blocking the view of any possible vehicles the others may have used to get there in, Daryl debated getting out and walking in the rest of the way to give them the element of surprise on any remaining walkers or driving down the long dusty driveway to park the truck close in case they needed a fast getaway.

Turning to see what the Cajun thought they should do, he found the man hopping out of the truck.

"I'll take a stroll ahead, give you the all clear to pull in." The Lieutenant said.

Daryl nodded.

He watched as the soldier walked down the driveway, combat boots kicking up as little dust as possible and snorted. The man even walked like a goddamned marine.

Beside him the dog whimpered and buried it's face deeper into Daryl's lap.

He pet it absently, keeping his eyes on the soldier boy as he moved down the long drive ahead of the truck, that fucking .22 of his with the scope duct taped to it in the sling ready position.

Eyeing the worn looking heavy pack the Cajun wore from behind, Daryl figured the man must have seen some heavy combat since he was deployed to combat the walkers. Hell, half of his gear was battered to shit, not including the shoulder of his vest where the walker had gnawed on him.

Since meeting the Cajun, Daryl noticed that he didn't ever wear his helmet, though he did keep it on his person, resting on the top of the pack, secured there by the chin strap woven through the pack's latch. What he used it for if not to protect his thick skull was beyond him.

Over top of the worn pack, the man had often worn a heavy looking old WWII field phone, which he hadn't had on him since they began looking for Rick and the others. It had seemed odd to Daryl at the time that the man bothered with such a heavy, clumsy looking thing, but he never bothered to dwell much on it.

They must have had time to hand out new gear before the world went to shit, though. Because the man wore woodland green camouflage and not the desert pattern he'd expect a soldier to wear while at war with a desert country.

It was then that Daryl realized he never really took notice of the man much at all. He was so caught up in finding his people, in getting everyone back together and safe, that he took no notice of the man who was helping him.

Reaching the end of the driveway, where the dirt road opened into the barnyard, the Lieutenant knelt and reached around to retrieve his helmet, jerking it off the latch with a sharp tug and pulling it on his head. Carefully he raised his rifle to a low ready position and proceeded slowly out into the middle of the yard.

Daryl noticed the man was left handed, or perhaps just liked to shoot lefty as the Lieutenant used his scope to look about, kneeling by an old set of harrows that Herschel had left standing by an old tractor.

Daryl's crossbow trigger finger twitched nervously as he watched the soldier eyeing the area.

The man was too far from him for Daryl to do any good if something went down and it made him nervous. He should have been the one to go in, if the others were there they wouldn't be too friendly seeing a stranger. At the time he was too busy worrying about walkers that he had forgotten that the Lieutenant was new to the others and if they were just attacked at the prison, they'd be even more inclined to shoot first.

No sooner had this thought entered his mind then he spied movement creeping up the side of the farmhouse, it moved too fast and stealthy for a walker, but smaller than a full grown adult.

"Fuck," he cursed, reaching behind the seat for his crossbow and hopping out of the truck.

Daryl raced down the drive, doing his best to stay in the ditch where he had better coverage just in case the movement wasn't friendly.

Getting close enough to make out the short stature of the stalking figure, Daryl glanced over to see if he could make eye contact with the Cajun in order to give him a head's up and noticed someone creeping upon the man from behind.

Hoping his gut instinct was right, Daryl stopped and cupping his hands to his mouth shouted at the person by the farmhouse.

"Carl!"

The person creeping up against the house paused, turning to him, gun in hand.

Daryl edged in closer, crossbow ready just in case. As he neared, he could clearly make out the hat the boy wore and the gun he carried.

"Daryl?" The boy called back.

Jogging towards the young man, Daryl lowered his weapon and nodded towards the Lieutenant. "He's with me."

The young man glanced over too, cupping his hands to his own mouth.

"Glenn! Stop!"

Across the yard the Lieutenant glanced over his shoulder to find the Asian ex-pizza boy standing behind him a few yards back, the Cajun stood up carefully and approached Daryl, Glenn behind him.

The four of them met in the middle of the farmyard.

"Did dad send you?" Carl asked, holstering his gun.

"No. I came here on a hunch. Who's all with you?" Daryl greeted.

Carl eyed the Lieutenant. "Glenn, Tyreese, Sasha and Max."

Daryl sneered. "What the fuck is a Tyreese?"

"It's a long story." Carl said. "You find the others?"

"Carol, Beth, Herschel and Judith."

"You didn't find Maggie yet?" Glenn broke in.

Daryl shook his head.

The young man seemed to slump in on himself. "At least the others got out okay." He said, eyeing the Lieutenant. "Who's this?"

"Some dumb assed Cajun, can't understand his funny language, don't even bother."

"Dumb assed Cajun saved your hillbilly ass, _couyon_." The Lieutenant replied, pushing his helmet higher on his brow with a crooked grin.

Daryl ignored him, addressing Carl. "You know where your dad might be?"

Carl shrugged. "He said he was going back to Woodbury for you. Said to come here, that he'd meet us back here where it was safer."

"You been to the highway?"

The young man nodded with a wince. "Been through there, grabbed the food we left for Sophia, thought we'd run out. Found some more in Herschel's basement though."

"We could always use more back at the convent," the Lieutenant broke in softly. "If you don't mind us packing it up."

Carl eyed the man warily.

"It's alright, Carl. The Lieutenant's done right by us so far." Daryl assured.

Eyeing the farmyard better now that the danger seemed to have passed, he noticed the Cherokee jeep and Merle's bike parked on the side of the house out of view from the road.

Noticing him, Glenn spoke, "I didn't think you'd want the Governor's men taking it."

Daryl sneered a little at the shorter man. "Better pray you didn't scratch it, Short Round." He growled, half teasing, half relieved that the man thought about how much the bike meant to Daryl.

"It's called 'gratitude'. Fuck," Glenn shot back.

Heading towards the bike, Daryl didn't care much if the others followed, he just wanted to make sure the saddle bag he kept on it was still there.

"Carl?" Someone called out, moving from the house.

Stopping halfway to the chopper, Daryl watched as a big black man stepped of the porch, followed by a smaller black woman and a scruffy looking man.

"It's okay, Tyreese," Carl said. "It's just Daryl and…" the boy looked over at the Cajun quietly.

The Lieutenant looked back at him for a moment, before his eyes widened. "Oh! Lieutenant Vancoughnett."

"Van what now?" Tyreese returned moving to stand with the group.

Deciding the newcomers were no threat, Daryl kept on, heading for Merle's bike.

"Maggie went with Rick," Glenn said, catching up with him. "He told me to go with Carl. That was the last we've seen of them."

Touching a hand to the engine casing of the chopper, Daryl inspected it for dents, before turning back to Glenn. "I'll find them. But for now let's pack up whatever supplies we left behind her and get back on the road. We may be able to get to the convent by nightfall."

Glenn eyed him for a moment with those brown puppy dog eyes of his. "Daryl," he began, "Merle…"

"Don't worry about Merle," he snarled. "Merle's my problem."

"He mangled my face, man!"

"Yeah, and I've wanted to mangle it at times too, what's your point?"

"He's dangerous. Why would you risk the others by going back for him anyways?" Glenn growled.

"Because he's my brother, dipshit!" Daryl yelled, the hand that wasn't hanging on to his crossbow strap balling into a fist at his side.

Glenn backed down a little, but still managed to glare at Daryl.

"What? Suddenly you don't trust me because I had to go back for kin?" Daryl went on, getting in the man's face. "I came looking for your sorry ass didn't I?"

"You weren't there," Glenn said softly. "You didn't see what he did to us."

"Yeah, well, don't worry about him." Daryl said, backing down a little. "Just worry about keeping your ass free of walkers and bullets. Be ready to move in twenty minutes," he stated, moving off, away from the Asian and the bike.

He was halfway to the truck, when Carl caught up with him.

"You alright, Daryl?" The young man asked.

"Fucking peachy."

Carl eyed him for a moment quietly. "I'm glad you got out okay." He finally said. "The group isn't as safe as we are when you're around."

Daryl glanced over at the kid. He had seemed to age four years in just one winter and walked more like a man than a boy.

"You're good at what you do," Carl clarified. "Dad really relies on you."

"I'll find your dad," Daryl assured him firmly. "He'll be just fine."

"I know."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Daryl waited until the others were busy loading supplies and preserves from Herschel's root cellar into the vehicles, before approaching the Lieutenant who was shoving a box of canned goods into the box of the truck.

"I'm going to take a little walk. See what I can find that we can use."

The Lieutenant eyed him for a second, before nodding. "Okay. I'll hold down the fort, yeah?"

Daryl nodded.

Walking off in the direction of the pile of ash that used to be the old barn, Daryl kept his eye out for walkers. He didn't think any lingered from last fall, but he still didn't feel as safe as the farm once made him feel.

Passing by the RV which was scorched black by the fire that destroyed the barn, he kept on, heading for the tree where those they lost had been buried.

Slowing, Daryl eyed the mounds of dirt, Otis, the two Greene family members from the barn, Dale, Sophia.

Sophia.

He paused very, very briefly at her smaller mound of dirt and rocks, before moving on, heading for the old summer kitchen where he had set up his camp.

There was really no need for him to go the long way, moving him past the graves, but he felt like he needed to see them. To remind him that what seemed like years ago had only just been last fall.

Arriving at his camp, he noticed his tent had been trampled by the walkers, utterly obliterated, but he hoped some of his stashed things survived the geeks feet under the nylon of the tent.

Taking the Cajun's combat knife with the word 'salt' etched into the handle, he sliced open the tent and began sorting through his sparse items.

Finding a handful of 9mm rounds and his back up hunting knife, he pocketed the rounds and slid the knife into his belt, but kept digging. Reaching under a pile of clothes, he found the small wooden item he had been whittling in his free time and eyed it quietly for a moment as it sat in the palm of his hand.

He hadn't finished it, put it away after the barn was opened and there was no more use for the hope it would have brought.

Eyeing the small wooden Cherokee rose he had been fashioning for Carol, Daryl grimaced. Clenching his fist around it, he thought about just tossing it aside and forgetting how close he had come to making a complete ass out of himself with the woman by giving her something as stupid as a wooden rose, but instead shoved it in his pants pocket before he could accomplish the action.

Standing up from sorting through his crap, he looked about quickly, checking for walkers, before heading back towards the house.

Two steps into his journey, he veered off quickly and moved back towards the graves.

Glancing around to ensure he was clear of walkers and inquiring eyes, he stopped first at Dale's. The man had called him decent once and while Daryl didn't much care for how much the man seemed to see and know, he couldn't help but miss him. Dale was always a good man to have around. He wasn't much use physically because of his age, but he was a good pair of eyes on the roof of the RV.

Nodding at the mound of dirt, he moved on to Sophia's grave, dropping to one knee at the side of it he sighed lightly.

Thinking about how she had emerged from the barn, how her legs were unsteady like a newborn foal's, recalling the way Carol fell apart in his arms as he held her back, how the whole moment was so ingrained in his mind and yet so blurry at the same time, Daryl winced.

He should have been there for Sophia. If he was even close enough to be the first man on the spot, she wouldn't have been lost, she wouldn't have been afraid, she wouldn't have died.

In his pocket the wooden Cherokee rose poked at his thigh and Daryl grimaced, looking skywards at the vivid blue Georgian sky spotted with fluffy white clouds. "Okay," he said, answering and unasked question.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

When he rejoined the group, he came upon a loud spoken argument in progress and moved to stand beside the Cajun who was watching quietly as the fellow named Tyreese argued with the black woman and the scruffy man.

Tyreese was obviously trying to keep the argument to themselves, but Daryl could hear everything as the woman and scruffy man discussed things with their apparent leader.

"We got ourselves into this mess by going to that prison, Ty." The woman stated. "Are you so sure you want to keep on with this group? Did you see that one with the crossbow? He looks like a criminal."

Exchanging a mildly amused look with the Lieutenant, Daryl pulled his crossbow off his back and held it so that he could lean back against the truck.

"What choices have we got, Sasha? There's literally no one left alive. We can't go on with only three of us!" Tyreese argued in a gruff whisper. "Carl and Glenn are good people," the black man went on, "if they say that Daryl can be trusted, then we can trust him."

"What about that Cajun? The soldier? I've never trusted anyone who smiles as much as he does." The scruffy man added.

Beside Daryl, the Lieutenant jerked his chin to his chest at the verbal abuse, but grinned after a moment and leaned towards Daryl. "He's got a point, I'll admit. No one likes an overly friendly man with a gun."

Daryl snorted in mild amusement.

Glancing over, Tyreese noticed the two men watching the conversation and winced.

"We'll discuss this later, okay?" He suggested to the two.

They all looked over to find Daryl and the Lieutenant peering back quietly. The Cajun raised his hand and waved warmly.

Slapping the Cajun's gut hard, Daryl smirked as the Lieutenant grunted in surprise at the action. "Come on, smirky, let's get moving."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**En d'oeuille** – To be in mourning.


	21. Un P'tit Bec

**Lilone1776 - Yeah, it's kind of sad that a world like the one portrayed in TWD creates mistrust between human beings.  
**

**crystal2817 - Thanks for the review!  
**

**Axelrocks - Aw, your reviews are always so optimistic and kind. It's reviewers like you who keep me updating so quickly. Thanks ever so!  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Ah, thanks for pointing that inconsistency out. I went back and fixed it so that it's not so hard for others to comprehend! Thanks for the review! ^_^  
**

**Brazen Hussy - Haha, that must be it! (Love that man!)  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - Yeah, some is better than none, amirite?  
**

**Satory - Gah, your reviews are always fascinating! I love to hear about things like that. I kind of think it's amazing that most of the Acadien I've come across is actually spelled phonetically. Like Couyon versus Coullion (I believe is the spelling, forgive my crappy French skills). Anyways, don't worry about your Frenglish, I think your reviews are just lovely regardless. Thanks for taking the time!  
**

**Selbyzipper - Haha, Alan? Is that his name? (I'm going to keep it as Max for the purpose of humour later on...) Thanks for pointing that out! Also, you asked for Caryl, this chapter delivers...I hope it pleases. Sorry about the slow going Caryl build up...I may have to change my genre to something other than romance as the plot sort of took over from the pairing...ack...  
**

**carylfan - Aw, thanks a bunch for the review! I honestly appreciate the support.  
**

**ldyjaydin - To be honest, I'm excited to see what happens as well. ^_^  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - Mah, your review made a shaky day one hundred times better. Thanks so much for your kind words. I don't actually write for a living, it's a passionate hobby of mine though. Daffy is probably the best bromance shipper name ever...I'm going to use the hell out of that.  
**

**Sira1 - Thank you so much. You're too kind. I really mean it when I say reviews like yours keep me updating so fast. I get energized when people say kind things and it causes me to write like a fiend.  
**

**I'm honestly floored by you kids and your kind reviews. I want to thank you all for them and as a treat, I offer this chapter to you. Finally! Enjoy!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: Un P'tit Bec**

****Carol****

They had just finished cleaning up after the evening meal when Annie came racing into the kitchen all smiles and bounces.

"They're back! They're back!" She exclaimed, circling the nuns one by one, before skipping out again.

Glancing over at Sister Mary Agnes, she found the woman smiling gently and nudging her way between Carol and the sink.

"I'll take over, Carol. Why don't you go and greet them?"

Drying her hands, she smiled and thanked the woman, hurrying out of the kitchen and down the long corridor of the main dorms.

She met up with Beth and Herschel, who had been spending their days in the Father's rectory as far from Merle in the infirmary as they could get, while the priest joined them from said infirmary, the one place everyone but him seemed to avoid.

Thankfully, Carol noticed Merle wasn't present, she wasn't sure how the rest of the group might greet him.

Sister Mary Monica opened the front gate, allowing Daryl to drive in on his brother's chopper, heading up a caravan of two other vehicles.

Her hope fell a little when she realized that Rick and Maggie weren't among those who exited the vehicles. But she did notice a small dog hop out of the truck behind the Cajun and quirked a brow at it as it loped along behind the man.

Carol stooped and gave Carl a hug, even though lately the boy cringed from them. She smiled at the others, but all the while her eyes were on Daryl.

He looked like he did in those long hours after Sophia was discovered in the barn. He looked helpless and lost, masking it with a sneer.

Wrapping her arms around Glenn, Carol touched his face gently. She could see pain in his eyes over the absence of Maggie. "Daryl will find them," she assured him.

He shrugged. "Maybe."

Sensing everyone was tired and just wanted to be alone, she motioned the three remaining members of Tyreese's group towards the dorms where Mother Superior Philomena was waiting to offer them food and shelter.

They were all halfway across the lawns, arms full of things from the Greene farm, when Merle made his appearance, sauntering up from the infirmary.

"Well, look what we have here," he greeted with that smarmy grin of his. "Where's that pretty girl of yours, Chinaman?"

Carol didn't have any time to locate one of the men, as Glenn curled his hands into fists and launched himself at Merle, growling, "you son of a bitch!"

Pandemonium broke out as everyone rushed to prevent a death match fight on the lawns of the convent, coming up behind Merle, Daryl and the Lieutenant tried to restrain him, but the rough man clocked the Lieutenant on the jaw with his metal stump device and knocked him off.

"He did this to us!" Glenn argued, held back by Tyreese and the other guy. "We wouldn't be in this mess if he didn't grab Maggie and me in town! It's his fucking group that did this to us!"

Carol watched the Lieutenant spit out a mouthful of blood, before climbing to his feet.

Daryl, practically dangling off his brother's back in an effort to slow the man down, looked for the first time since she had known him, like he had no idea what to do.

"What's wrong, Glenn? Don't you like reunions?!" Merle shouted back at the Korean-American. "And here I thought we made up at Woodbury."

The Mother Superior joined them from the dorms, moving to stand herself between the two men, hoping to shield them from fighting by her presence.

Merle, in an effort to get at Glenn who was still yelling and screaming at him, took a violent step to go around the woman, but ended up knocking her onto her face on the lawns.

Carol took a step back from the entire scene, as the Cajun – who noticed the nun being knocked down – took three long strides towards Merle.

He grabbed Merle's good arm and twisted it back, bringing the wrist up to Merle's shoulder blade. Kicking the backs of Merle's knees, brought the man to a kneeling position, then placing a knee against the small of the man's spine, the Lieutenant pushed Merle down and continued to kneel on him, keeping him pinned.

Daryl did what he could, keeping Merle's other arm from flailing at the soldier keeping him in control.

"Here's the thing, _couyon_," the Lieutenant spat, more blood spilling from his mouth, running over his chin. "_Tuat t'en grosse bueche_.You can be an asshole all you want, it's a free world. But you have to learn some basic manners, _capon_. One," the man was bumped viciously as Merle bucked under him. Tightening his grip on the arm, the Cajun leaned in close to Merle's ear, his right hand pushing Merle's face into the ground. "One, you treat guests nicely while you're on my grounds. Two, you knock my girls around like that again and I'll cut your fucking head off, yeah?"

"Get off me you fucking _coonass_ bitch!" Merle snarled.

"I think I'm going to plant here until you cool down, Merle." The Lieutenant replied. "Either that or I knock you the fuck out so we can have some peace for a while, your choice."

"Come on, Merle," Daryl said. "Let's go to the infirmary."

From beneath the Cajun, the older Dixon growled, struggling to push the man off him.

Carol could see the white of the soldier's knuckles as he refused to let the man go for a moment, before he cautiously released Merle and slipped off his back.

Caught by Tyreese and the other guy, Glenn huffed angrily, but said nothing as Merle stood up.

"Come on," Daryl insisted again.

His older brother shoved him hard. "Get the fuck away from me!"

Everyone watched Merle storm off, back towards the infirmary.

"You shouldn't have brought us here," Glenn growled at Daryl. "You shouldn't have brought us anywhere near him. The man's unstable."

Daryl glared at the Asian, before he stormed off too, heading for the garden shed where he had taken to stashing his stuff among the Cajun's.

Quietly eyeing the others as they milled about for a moment, Carol sighed. "Come on," she said softly. "Let's get these things put away."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

After they had stored the things from the Greene farm and Carol managed to talk Glenn out of going back to the prison rather than staying at the convent, she took up two plates of cold dinner and headed out for the garden shed to give them to the men staying there.

Inside she found Daryl angrily whittling new bolts for his crossbow, sitting on the hood of an old riding lawnmower, the Cajun lounging on an old cot, reading a well thumbed through copy of National Geographic.

Both men looked up when she entered.

"I thought you could use something to eat," she said softly.

The Lieutenant took the plate from her with a quiet 'thanks' and Daryl nodded as she set it down beside him.

Folding her arms, Carol stood back from the two, eyeing Daryl.

He looked pissed, but she could also see something else flickering under the surface. Hurt, maybe, hesitation, something that he usually didn't wear on his face. She wasn't sure, but it was something that reminded her of his expression that night after they lost the farm.

"Are you going to be alright?" She asked, addressing the youngest Dixon.

He sliced a strip of bark off the branch he was working on angrily. "Peachy."

"I don't think you are." She stated.

On the cot, the Cajun paused, spoon of stew halfway to his mouth, graceful dark brows over grey eyes perched high on his forehead. "Seems like a tricycle situation…" he muttered, pushing to his feet. "I'm going to walk off the calories while I eat." He said, moving past Carol with a wink.

She reached out a hand to touch his arm on the way by as a silent thanks.

Carol waited for a moment, watching Daryl as he attacked the branch. Somehow she didn't think that one was going to be much use as a bolt.

"Glenn tells me Rick and Maggie went back for you." She said after a moment.

"So?" He growled.

"So, what do you think's going on?"

"Dumb ass probably got himself killed going back," Daryl snarled. "Simple as that."

"You don't really think that, do you?" Moving towards him, Carol took a seat behind the wheel of the lawnmower, leaning against the steering wheel calmly.

Daryl was quiet, knife working on the branch with a little less force.

"I didn't ask him to go back," Daryl said. "He should know I can take care of myself."

"He went back for you, because that's what friends do, Daryl."

Daryl's wince-like facial tic reared up and he sniffed calmly. "Yeah, well, we ain't friends."

"Of course you are. And I know that in the morning you'll go back for him." She got out of the seat and hopped up beside him on the hood.

"He's probably dead already," Daryl replied darkly.

"You don't know that," she said. "And until you do, you're going to keep looking for them, until you find them. That's what you do."

"Yeah," he muttered, tossing the branch away. "That's all I'm good for."

Suddenly Carol didn't care if she freaked him out and chased him off, she couldn't take him thinking he was only good for one thing. She wrapped her arms loosely around his waist and leaned against him.

Daryl tensed. Every muscle stiffened. His jaw twitched, but he remained passive, sitting beside her.

Carol studied his face for a sign that she overstepped his very clear personal boundaries, but so far all he did was study the wall before them, hands fiddling with the knife. She could feel his hard muscles under her arms relax after a long, silent moment and smiled a little.

"I'll find him," he said softly, still eyeing the wall.

Cautiously, he glanced over at her, his nose nearly bumping hers as he turned his head a little.

Carol beamed at him. "I know you will."

His eyes had never been bluer to her, then the moment when he began to move and shift under her embrace, putting the knife down at his far side.

Thinking he was finally pulling away, Carol loosened her grip on him and began to lean away, only to find his arm snaking around her waist quickly, drawing her back against him.

He flinched again and looked at the wall, arm tight around her waist, hand hot against her hip.

Feeling that was a go-ahead, she tightened her arms again and leaned against him with a contented little smile. She had never been this close to him – at least not while completely aware of the feeling of being against him – and she liked it. He was all hard angles and masculine scent. It comforted her.

Daryl was much more use to her than just some guy who tracked and hunted. He was the rock she clung to among the raging waters of an uncertain world.

She remembered that feeling of relief, that absolute euphoria when she opened her eyes that day he found her in that solitary confinement cell. It wasn't just relief that she had been found, but that _he_ survived the walkers, that he was the one who found her.

She wanted him to know how much she needed him in her life.

How odd was it that the youngest Dixon brother, the man who once scared her when the Dixon's first showed up at the quarry, was the one man who she trusted absolutely and without question?

Appearances were indeed misleading, weren't they?

The fingers of his hand twitched against her hip and she knew he was nervously fidgeting and not just adjusting them.

Daryl was a ball of energy, he couldn't sit still long and she knew he was getting restless already.

Their eyes met and Carol smiled sheepishly. She was a grown woman, but Daryl made her feel like a teenaged girl again. Maybe it was his own awkward nature when it came to intimacy that caused her to feel awkward as well.

Carefully his other arm crossed over her lap, hand tucking under her thigh. He dragged her even closer to him, leaving his hand under her leg.

Now closer to him than ever, she bumped her head under his chin and laid her cheek against his chest.

He smelled of sweat and the woods, but it wasn't in anyway offensive to her. She'd take this kind of intimacy with him if he smelled of the death and decay of walkers, if it meant she got a chance to show him how she felt without having to say anything.

Daryl was more of an actions-speak-louder-than-words type anyways.

"What do I do about Merle?" He asked suddenly, his gruff voice rumbling in his chest under her ear.

Carol toyed with a button on his shirt. "That's not my decision to make."

He was quiet again.

"Maybe you could talk to him first, before you make any decisions," she suggested after a moment. "He is your brother, after all."

"I've always had to clean up his messes," Daryl snarled.

"Doesn't mean you love him any less."

"Don't tell me who I love and don't love, woman," he said gruffly, tone half teasing.

Carol buried a laugh into his chest.

She could have sworn he nuzzled her a little with his chin.

After the longest time, they pulled away from each other.

Daryl looked ten times calmer than he had before she came along. "Okay," he said. "I'll go talk with Merle."

"And I mean _talk_ to him, no fighting, okay?" She urged with a small grin.

"Sometimes with Merle, it's like you have to slap him around a few times before his ears start working," he replied.

"Well, _try_ to behave yourself, at least." She returned, hopping down from the hood of the lawnmower, dusting her ass off idly. "Then talk with Glenn, he thinks you're siding with Merle."

"I ain't siding with no one right now."

"He doesn't know that."

Sliding off the mower, Daryl nodded. "Fine."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Un p'tit bec** – A kiss or embrace  
**Tuat t'en grosse bueche** – You have a big mouth. When a Cajun says this, it basically means 'shut up'.

**Added Bonus - The Merle Dialect**

**Coonass** - A derogatory term for a person of Cajun descent.


	22. Chouchoot

**Brazen Hussy - I don't blame you. I think Merle's character is a very deep, complex fellow and I'm trying to get inside his head to figure out why he tends to enjoy 'shit disturbing' but so far nothing. I shall continue to delve...(don't worry he will get a chance to explain himself soon enough).  
**

**Canadian Friend - Ah, a fellow Canuck huh? Well, should I post this comment bilingually so you feel more at home? ^_^ I'm so touched that you actually read my comments before the chapter as well. I do post them in the chapters so that if people have similar questions and concerns they have a reference. Plus I always enjoy open discussions. Ah, but I ramble...thanks a metric ton for your review (see what I did there?)  
**

**crystal2817 - Aw, thanks. You made me blush a little.  
**

**Axelrocks - I would be so happy if Merle on the show could join up with the group. I kind of get all happy at the idea of the Dixon brother's united against evil and walkers. They'd kick so much ass together.  
**

**sammipoop - Ack! I recognize you! Eeeeek! Hey, thanks a bunch for your review! I'm glad you find the story good.  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - Daryl and Carol should never NEVER happen unless it's slow. That's the entire reason I like their relationship. It seems stronger, because it's been such a slow burn. If the show ever hooks them up, it needs to be subtle and awkwardly sweet. I think in the story if Daryl, Merle and the Lt can get along, they'd be one hell of a force against Woodbury.  
**

**spygrrl99 - Haha, your mom sounds like a total BAM (get it? I left the F out... ahahaha, I'm not funny...) Anyways, your review made me laugh my ass off. To be honest, I felt like a racist prick googling to see if there was a derogatory term for a Cajun (I figured if there was one, old Merle would know it). To my shock there was. Anyways, surprised people actually have heard it and used it.  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - Ah Merle's racist side...he just can't make it easy for us to love him, can he?  
**

**AFishNamedSushi - Ack, your review was so kind! And I'm glad I got across what I was hoping to get across. So...*cough*...when can I expect an update of your beautiful piece? Hmm? *nudge nudge* XD Thanks for the review!  
**

**Supfan - Thanks. I'm trying to go slow with the Caryl (which is getting some people a little peeved at me) but the truth is their relationship isn't just a wham-bam-thank you-ma'am type. I could never just write them flopping into bed together in the third chapter, because I can't see them ever doing that believably.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - I do find they sometimes do things that don't make sense on the show...I like that people are always starving, but when you think about the amount of food most people have in their cupboards (and given that they live in a rural area where people are always stocking up on the preserves in their basements at least that's how it is where I live) I'm amazed that they're always so hungry. Like when the ZA hit, did people go out and just eat all their food before they got turned or what? Anyways, thanks for the review!  
**

**I cannot stress enough how much I appreciate you all. Even you shy readers who don't review. I mean it. I love you kids for showing me such support. Gah! *hippie Spyface* Thanks to everyone who reviews, everyone who reads, just everyone in general. You are the ones who earn your quick updates of this story by showing such love and support. If I didn't get that nudge, especially from you reviewers, I wouldn't update as quickly. So thanks.  
**

**(I just got super polite Canadian on you all, didn't I? Sorry...wait...no I'm not)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Chouchoot**

****The Lieutenant****

"This is the church," he muttered templing his fingers, "and this is the steeple…"

Lying on his back on a pew in the dark church, the Lieutenant idly amused himself, waiting for an appropriate amount of time, before returning to his shed for a little shut eye.

Hearing the door open and the scrambling of claws on the hardwood floor, the Cajun paused in his pew.

Earlier he had handed the dog off to the Little Missy, who squealed and cooed over it and Lafayette knew immediately just who was creeping up on him.

Sitting up, he eyed the darkness near the door, surprised to find not Annie moving down the aisle, but that blonde girl Beth, followed immediately by the dog.

Her footsteps faltered when she spied him, but she offered a small smile and kept moving on towards the front of the church.

The Lieutenant spied the door open and close again, this time that young man Carl was there.

He nodded a silent greeting to the Lieutenant, the hat he wore bobbing.

Watching as the blonde took a knee in one of the front pews, the boy moved down the line of the pew until he seated himself at the Lieutenant's side quietly.

"Is it okay for us to be here?" Carl asked softly.

"Of course, but the Old Missy will snatch you bald-headed if she catches you with that hat on in her church."

Carl removed it quickly with a sheepish, forced grin.

"Beth really likes that dog." The young man said.

The Lieutenant nodded. "Annie sleeping? That's the only way I'd imagine she'd let that dog out of her sight."

Grinning, Carl nodded. "Yeah."

"Mother Superior give you the tour then?"

"Yeah."

The two fell silent as Beth prayed up at the front, the dog clicking and clacking back and forth on the floor.

"You sweet on her?" The Lieutenant asked, nudging the boy playfully.

He shrugged. "No, she just…she needs someone to watch her. With Merle around here somewhere and everything."

"_Mais_, Merle won't bother you here. I wouldn't allow it."

"But you can't watch him all the time." Carl argued. "Dad says he was really out of control in Atlanta."

"Merle is just a rabble-rouser. Ever hear of that?"

"No."

"Used to be these men would stir up conflict to gain support for their own causes. They called them rabble-rousers."

"What's Merle's cause?"

"Don't know." The Lieutenant admitted. "Could be anything. Could be he just likes to cause fights. I think it's called social dissension disorder under the DSM. Or maybe he's just a big mouthed asshole."

Carl nodded. "Could be."

"You're kind of a serious boy, aren't you?"

Shrugging, Carl eyed Beth at the front of the church. "Not much to laugh at these days."

"True. I guess I was never able to take life too seriously. Probably something I should work on."

They were quiet for a moment as the dog scuttled over to sniff at the Lieutenant's leg. The Cajun scooped it up and dropped it on the pew beside him, scratching it idly behind the ear.

"Little Missy name her yet?"

"That girl Annie? Think she was calling her Boo."

The Lieutenant chuckled. "Was she now?"

Carl nodded.

"Did you ever hear the story of old Boudreaux?" The Lieutenant asked.

The young man shook his head. "No."

"Well, this old man named Boudreaux was out fishing in a lake one day and he had a heart attack and died suddenly there in the water. His missus, Madame Boudreaux called up the paper to put his obituary in. And she said she wanted it to read, "Boudreaux died the other day while fishing'. Well, the paper called her back later on and said to her, 'Madame Boudreaux you know you can put up to ten lines in the paper'. So the next day old man Boudreaux' obituary read, 'Boudreaux died the other day while fishing. Boat for sale.'"

The young man blinked at him.

"Nothing, huh? Well, I guess it's not that funny…"

"It's kind of funny, I guess." Carl shrugged.

"Naw, I'm no George Burns, _he_ would have gotten a laugh with that one."

"I don't know who that is." Carl said apologetically.

"Doesn't matter."

At the front of the church, Beth stood and began to head down the aisle for the door.

Carl stood up, the dog scrabbling off the pew to join Beth at the door. "Nice talking with you, Lieutenant."

The Cajun saluted the young man playfully.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

"Is this what you do with your free time, Lafayette?" A voice broke the silence of the night. "Sloth about in cemeteries?"

The Lieutenant looked up from where he was star gazing, lying beside Sister Francine's grave at the back of the church where the nuns buried their dead, to find the Mother Superior approaching him. At least he thought it was her, it was hard to tell as this woman wore jeans and a vaguely peasant-style shirt.

He wasn't sure how he felt about the jeans or the way the shirt clung to her curves in all the right…er...wrong ways.

"Not all the time," he replied, sitting up quickly.

The petite woman eased down onto the dewy night grass beside him. Drawing her knees to her chest, the Lieutenant noticed that she was bare foot.

In the stifling heat of the Georgian night, he eyed her little feet as she wiggled her toes among the cool grass and frowned a little.

"You should be in bed," he pointed out.

"So should you." She returned. "I'm shocked that you're up so late, honey. Don't you have a war to wage tomorrow?"

Sticking his long legs out, he crossed them at the ankles and leaned back on his hands. "I don't quite know what the plans are for tomorrow, Missy."

"But you're willing to follow Daryl into the mouth of hell itself, aren't you?"

"I'm trying to make us some friends in a friendless wasteland."

Beside him he felt the woman's eyes on him. Those soft, ocean green eyes that could turn hard as stone in an instant, were scrutinizing his every facial tic.

"We must help our fellow man. This is what the Samaritans have taught us." She finally said. "I'm not overly fond of the idea of killing others, but there are things in this world I don't like that can't be helped." Reaching over, she touched a strong, tiny hand to his forearm. "But I wish you would take care of yourself as well, honey. You never seem to think of yourself at all, it seems."

"That's all I did when I was younger," he said. "It's about time I left that attitude with the old world, don't you think?"

"And what if you are going to war?" She asked. "You'll have gone in without doing one selfish thing."

"Expecting me to run out of time to do selfish things, Missy?" He teased.

"Lafayette," the woman scolded him, "you shouldn't joke about death. You know what they say. The man who speaks of Death meets him soon enough."

"Hn, never heard that one." He eyed her legs in the jeans and pursed his lips. "I don't like you in jeans." He stated firmly.

"Too bad, honey."

"Just doesn't seem right."

"Life is full of things that don't seem right."

"I mean, you could wear a skirt or something."

"Actually, speaking of the clothing you brought us, Lafayette. I've been meaning to ask you," she reached into her pocket and withdrew a tiny scrap of red lace. "Was this intended for me or did you have a particular Sister in mind?"

Eyeing the _thing_ the nun held, the Lieutenant froze like a meerkat on the African plains. What was that even? It was more than just drawers…

Whatever it was there wasn't much to it.

"Uh…huh…" he managed to get out.

"Because you wouldn't put it in with our clothes unless you had intentions for it, right?" The woman urged dangling it in front of her.

Flashing a charming grin, the Lieutenant bought himself a little time. "Well, funny story. I just sort of grabbed clothes at random, threw them in a valise and…uh…that…that…uh…_chouchoot_ could have been hiding."

"Hn, seems a little racy for us. Maybe you'd better do something with it." She said, folding it and handing it over to the Lieutenant.

He handed it back almost the instant it touched his hand. "What am I supposed to do with something like this?"

"What am I?" She returned archly. "After all, just wearing jeans makes you uncomfortable, could imagine what I'd do in something like this."

The Cajun wondered if there was a way he could pass out if only to escape the thoughts that suddenly flooded his mind. He looked from the red thing the woman was holding out to him, to her face, over her form and back to the thing.

Oh, he was going to hell for sure.

Looking away, Lafayette stared a hole into a nearby tombstone. "The little baby…ah…Judith she's running low on formula…we'll probably make a dash into the nearest town tomorrow. Look for some…maybe check some houses, anywhere we can really. Someone has to have some formula sitting around…don't really know the expiry date on something like that, but…well if she needs it, she needs it. I wonder how you make formula, anyways. What is it, like dried milk? I know it's a powder, saw some once in a little baggie that a woman had on her…think it's vitamin enriched too, isn't it? Sort of…a cocktail of good things for wee ones. I wouldn't know, not an expert on chemicals and science, really. It has to be manmade though, right? It can't be an actual organic substance. Can it? Naw. I wouldn't say so. You know my _Mamere_ she used to be a midwife back when she was younger, I bet she'd know a good substitute for formula…probably just recommend a wet-nurse maybe…though I recall hearing once that babies can't drink anything but their own mama's milk and formula, otherwise they get sick…not sure if that's true. I wonder how I know this…I must have heard it somewhere."

"Honey, you'd better breathe," the woman broke in gently.

He clamped his mouth shut and nodded.

Putting the thing on the other side of her out of sight, the nun smiled warmly at him. "There. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Sure."

They were silent for a long, awkward moment.

"It wasn't the red thing, ah…that made me…you know?" He broke the silence.

"It's a called a negligée, honey."

The Lieutenant eyed the woman out of the corner of his eye as she stared idly up at the stars, before he touched a hand to his chin, stroking it.

"Sure. Of course. I've seen them before…just didn't know what they…well!" He laughed again nervously. "Not on women, naturally! Ah…but you know…seen them around…just hanging around…on hangers and…not on a lady, it's…"

"Okay, honey." She said with a small smile, touching a hand to his knee warmly. "Let's talk about something else."

He nodded. "Sure."

They watched the stars in the sky quietly. After a moment, the woman laid herself out on the ground, hands behind her head and the Lieutenant followed, lying down beside her to better watch the sky.

"You know they say the bigger the star, the shorter the lifespan of it." He offered after a moment.

"Really?"

"Um."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

"Well, _mon dieu_! Look who's darkening my doorstep!" Merle exclaimed as the Cajun entered the infirmary that night after taking his shift on the wall.

The Lieutenant eyed the man for a moment, brow furrowed, before he burst out laughing. "Ain't nobody down on the bayou says 'mon dieu'!" The Cajun laughed. "What the hell kind of French you think we speak down there? I mean we probably said 'mon dieu' like a hundred years ago, but…you know. You _Texians_ with your ideas about us _Acadiens_, I swear…"

"What brings you here?" The older Dixon asked.

"Well, I figured an apology was in order after I kicked your dick in the dirt today."

Merle scowled at him. "What?"

"I'm not normally that unkind to guests, but…I lost my temper a little. So, I came to say 'sorry'. I'm sorry, Merle."

"Really?" The man demanded, looking at the Cajun like he was a walker on the loose with his intestines trailing behind him.

"For true."

The man sneered for a little longer in his direction, before flopping onto his cot. "Well, whatever the fuck makes you happy."

"I'll take that as an acceptance of my apology. Whatcha doing there, _Grande Beede_?"

The man fiddled with a blade, one handed it looked like he was struggling a bit, but the man seemed to be doing the best he could with what he had.

The Lieutenant had to admire that about him.

"Working on my blade, dumb ass. What's it look like?"

"Looks like you're yanking your crank, _couyon_. Anyways, just wanted to apologize before heading home for a good long rest."

"That, ah, nun okay?" Merle asked suddenly.

"Yeah, she's fine."

Merle went back to work.

In the silence that followed, the Lieutenant assumed he was dismissed.

"_Mais_, better let you get back to work, then. Goodnight, Merle."

"Yeah." The man grunted.

"Oh, sorry, _bonne nuit_, Monsieur Dixon!" The Cajun laughed again hard on his way out. "Mon dieu…"

He was still laughing by the time he ducked into his garden shed.

Wiping tears out of his eyes, he nodded to Daryl who was quietly making bolts.

"What's tickling your balls then?" Daryl greeted tonelessly.

"Ah, just…archaic terms."

Resting his rifle beside the door, the Lieutenant flopped onto his cot and scooped up his National Geographic.

"So, what's your plans for tomorrow then?" He asked, flipping through the magazine.

"Well, I'm assuming if Rick is still alive he'd be in and or around Woodbury, and if we plan on taking on the Governor's people, we'll need more weapons and medical supplies. I'd like to get Judith some formula too before Carol runs out. Figured with Glenn and Merle bitching fighting with each other, we could divide up the group and half could make the run, the other half pull some recon of Woodbury."

"Sounds good. Supply run into where? Closest town? Anyplace specific?"

"What's the closest town like?"

"Don't know, keep clear of it as much as possible. One thing I learned humping mud with the grunts is that you don't go where the scent of man lingers." Opening the page of the magazine to an article about Papua New Guinea, the Lieutenant began reading.

"Speaking of you and that fucking gear you haul around. What's with that old radio? Thing must weigh about thirty pounds."

"More like forty and change," the man replied.

"Why bother?"

"When our walkies went down, we broke into an old VA hall and stole this from one of those glass cases. Got our orders off it."

"Why go through the trouble?"

"Thing doesn't need batteries, easier that way."

Daryl stopped working on the bolt long enough to cast a glance at the piece of ancient equipment that the Lieutenant stored on a shelf between weed killer and a box of gardening gloves.

"You still carry it sometimes," he said.

"Sure do."

"You really think anyone survived? Soldiers, I mean?"

"Haven't heard from anyone since I had troops at my command." The Lieutenant flipped a page casually.

Daryl went back to whittling the branch quietly.

"What about that gun in the corner? You use it anymore?"

"Marie? Naw, she's got one shot left."

"Do you name everything you own?"

"Not everything. Didn't name the dog, remember?"

"What about this knife?"

"Salt? What about her?"

"Why Salt?"

Putting the magazine down, the Cajun lolled his head to one side to look over at Daryl. "I once knew an old voodoo woman named Tamara LeBlanc. She used to tell me this story about her Papere who knew of an old Houngan who put this boy under the spell of the Voodoo God Zombi. She said the only thing that snapped that boy out of his stupor was when the Houngan's wife accidentally put salt in the boys meal. Salt apparently wakes zombies up from their trance."

"And you think that's what's walking around out there?"

"Oh hell, no. I just thought it couldn't hurt to be prepared, yeah?"

"What about that .22 of yours? Graveyard Dirt? Is that some kind of magic crap too or what?"

"Voodoo, _couyon_, and yeah it is."

"So, what? You're a voodoo practitioner or something? Does the nun know about this?" Daryl asked.

The Cajun laughed. "Not a follower really, no. Anyways, best get some rest, yeah?" Flopping back onto the bed, he sighed and tucked his hands behind his head.

The garden shed was filled with the sound of Daryl whittling.

"I spoke with Merle. He won't cause you trouble again." Daryl said.

"I know. I went to apologize to him for knocking him down earlier, he seemed a little more reasonable."

Daryl shifted on the lawnmower to eye the Cajun on the cot. "You apologized to him?"

"Hn, don't know about you, but I'm not a fan of establishing dominance. Sometimes an Alpha Male just has to snarl at the right opponent, but no one ever said he couldn't apologize for it afterwards. That's good manners."

"You're fucking weird, Fay." Daryl pointed out.

"Thank you."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Chouchoot** - Thingamajig

**Acadiens** - Cajun's speak Acadien-French, in French Cajun's are also Acadiens. True story the word 'Cajun' comes from the sound Englishmen heard when the Cajun's introduced themselves as 'Acadiens'. If you pronounce Acadiens properly it sounds like A Cajun.

**Added Bonus - The Parisian French Dialect**

**Mon Dieu** – My God! (The Lt makes fun of this term as it's a Parisian French term and wouldn't properly be used by a Cajun who speaks a more low class form of French). Mon Dieu actually would have been used back a hundred years ago by the Cajun ancestors because most of them were directly off the ship from France, but otherwise it's a term that's barely used by common class Cajuns.

**Bonne Nuit** – Goodnight (Cajuns would probably use it if they strictly spoke Acadien-French, but being that the Lt shows high bilingual abilities, he would more or less choose to just say goodnight, him saying 'bonne nuit' is just him making fun of Merle).


	23. Lagniappe

**Axelrocks - Haha, I love a good bromance, don't you? Rick and Daryl are adorable together as buds. I like their bromance, because they don't need words. Somehow they're just there for each other. Daryl and the Lt on the other hand, the Lt talks non-stop and Daryl just listens, asking questions now and then, because deep down I think Daryl has a thirst for knowledge (I base this on how he knew so much about the Cherokee's and the rose story). Seems like Daryl likes to learn new things.  
**

**sonshinedaisy - I enjoy a well written nun character. As much as I'm not religious, I've always been fascinated by nuns. I think they make for interesting characters. Thanks for your review!  
**

**Brazen Hussy - I think Merle was too shocked by actually receiving an apology that he had no time to prepare a good retort.  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - Young Maggie Smith was so beautiful! But to be honest, I still think she's beautiful. Really gorgeous looking older lady.  
**

**AFishNamedSushi - To be honest, I like Season 3 Carl, he used to be a brat, but now he's halfway useful. Also, I don't think people torment the Lt enough. He gets away with being cheeky too much, needs someone to check him once in a while.  
**

**spygrrl99 - I owe you nothing and you'll enjoy it! (I keed! ^_^) To be honest I never really thought of the Lt and Mother Superior together. I just like the idea of them having the kind of relationship where she torments him and he takes it because he's a good guy.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Haha! Love the sugar and spice analogy! Made my day! XD  
**

**Sira1 - Adding a little levity to my chapters is always fun. ^_^ Thanks for the review!  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - The Lt needed that torment, he gets away with too much. He's too easy going, needs someone to check him.  
**

**sammipoop - Well, :S xo back atcha!  
**

**GG - Oh, sounds like you had a rough week. Geez, I know what family and funerals are like...I'm glad my story brought a much needed smile to your face. I really feel your pain.  
**

**Well, because one of my reviewers GG had such a terrible week, I've decided to dedicate this chapter to them. GG, I hope this makes you at least a wee bit happy. ^_^  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Lagniappe**

****Daryl****

"Hey, coonass," Merle growled. "This what you soldier boys do in your spare time?"

They had split into two groups earlier that morning, Glenn and Tyreese and his man heading into the nearest town on a supply run, while Daryl took his brother and the Cajun on a recon mission to check out Woodbury and area for Rick and whoever he was with.

He had mostly dragged Merle along to keep him from Glenn and the others and since his big brother's shoulder seemed better, he actually preferred to have him at his side. Merle may have been a number one shit disturber, but he was still a good man to have in a fight.

They were moving through an abandoned home near Woodbury, picking up much needed things here and there as they went, digging quickly and efficiently through drawers and such, when his big brother came across a well hidden spank bank mag.

It was either aimed at women or men who liked men and featured a camouflaged gentleman as a centrefold.

The Cajun frowned at the image. "That's not regulation gear at all."

Flipping the magazine at the soldier, Merle beamed. "Well, good to know when the world calms it's tits down you can get a job rebuilding the porn industry."

Daryl scoffed, digging through a drawer of his own. At least they were getting along.

"My _Mamere_ taught me better than that," the Cajun replied. "Be a cold day in Hades when you catch me with my pecker hanging out like that…get it caught on a tripwire or something…"

"There ain't nothing here," Daryl stated. "Let's get a move on."

Stepping over the corpse of a walker they had taken down, Merle slapped it's back on the way by with a laugh. "Sorry we outed you, old man."

"Well, that's not fair to him," the Lieutenant argued, following Merle out of the room. "Could have been the old lady's."

Bringing up the rear, Daryl quietly shut the bedroom door behind him and smirked. They were checking the area around Woodbury before going near the actual town, hoping that Rick and whoever he was with were hiding out, planning their next move. It was a better thing to think about then if Rick and the others were captured. Daryl wasn't so sure they would still be alive if they were actually in Woodbury.

"How many other farmhouses?" Daryl asked his brother as they emerged from the house into the bright sunshine of the beautiful Georgian spring day.

"That I know about? Four others, but they might also have holed up in the dam or a few of the hunting cabins I know about. Of course two of those hunting cabins are used as covers for the Governor's men and one of the farmhouses is frequented by his men as well, though not as often." Merle replied casually. "Of course that Officer Friendly of yours seems wily, he might have different plans and headed out of state if he was smart enough. Hell, he might even be dead already."

Daryl frowned as he hopped into the cab of the truck, sliding behind the wheel. "Until I see his corpse walking around, he ain't. So shut up and get in."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

They moved slower, more cautiously the closer to Woodbury that they got.

Merle directed Daryl down a beaten cattle trail of a road towards an old cabin hidden in the woods, cautioning him that it wasn't used by the Governor's men, but that didn't mean it'd be empty or safe.

They parked the truck halfway down the trail, just off the road where it would be hidden and walked the rest of the way in silence.

Letting the soldier take point, Daryl took the coverman position with a semi-automatic that Merle had fixed from among the pile of crapped out weapons the Lieutenant had stored away, eyeing the surrounding woods as they moved just off the trail through them. They didn't have much ammo left for the semi-auto, but it was better than an old rifle if they really needed it. As always, he kept his crossbow on him, slung on his back just in case he needed it.

Behind him Merle played tail-end Charlie, watching their asses with a 9mm tucked into his belt.

Daryl's eyes flickered to the road at their left, worried that just because it was a road, they were ignoring the possibility that walkers or men could be coming from that direction as well.

God forbid walkers fall upon them while they were too busy being on the lookout for the Governor's men.

Nearing the cabin, the Lieutenant pulled them all into a stop at the edge of the woods. The three men crouched on their hunches, eyeing the building for a moment.

The Cajun raised his scope to his eye to get a better look at her, eyeing the windows for signs of life or un-life as it were.

Lowering himself to his belly, the soldier crawled just out of the treeline, into a low dip that made up the cabin's cattle-trail driveway's ditch. He motioned for Merle and Daryl to stay where they were, as he crept up the small incline, to peer over at the building with his scope.

Slowly reaching around his pack, the Cajun gripped his helmet and tugged it on, securing the chin strap, before poking his head up higher.

Moving with steady, sluggish motions, the Lieutenant got to his feet, crouching low, creeping across the trail into the open area of the cabin's lawns.

Daryl's finger tensed at the trigger of the gun as the soldier moved into a vulnerable position, scuttling to the other side of the trail and into the woods there.

A rifle with a high powered scope duct taped to it poked out of the underbrush almost cartoonishly and if the situation hadn't been so severe, Daryl would have snorted in amusement. Instead he felt his spine tense in preparation for cover fire.

Instead, the rifle pulled back into the newly unfurling, tender green leaves of the bushes and the Cajun gave him and Merle the signal to join him on the other side of the trail.

The Dixon brothers hustled across to join the Lieutenant. Both men crouching low at the soldier's side. He motioned towards a windowless side of the cabin, then made a walking motion with his fingers. Holding up two fingers, he motioned for Daryl and Merle to stay behind to give him cover.

They nodded in understanding, taking up their cover positions, as the Lieutenant scuttled out from the underbrush, hustling across the lawns, moving like the earth itself in his camo.

Reaching the side of the building, the Cajun pressed himself flat against the wall and slid along it until he reached the corner. Peering around it cautiously, he raised his rifle and scoped the unexplored area behind the cabin.

With a wave of his hand, he motioned the Dixon's over.

Picking up his feet, Daryl moved across the lawns, pressing against the building beside the Cajun.

Again the man motioned for them to stay behind, signalling that he spied something through his scope and was going to investigate.

Daryl shifted close to the corner as the Lieutenant darted around it, hurrying away from the building, towards the woods behind the cabin.

Raising the semi-automatic, Daryl watched the man's back as he took a knee just inside the treeline and disappeared into the foliage.

In the heat of the Georgian mid-afternoon sun, sweat rolled down Daryl's back and tickled his spine, but he remained still, eyeing the woods where the soldier disappeared.

Eventually the soldier emerged, crouching low just inside the treeline.

He held up a single finger and made a driving motion.

Daryl relayed the message to Merle who sneered, but nodded.

The Lieutenant was more cautious joining them against the cabin's blindside, but eventually made it back to their location.

Eyeing the Dixon brother's, the Cajun asked the important question with gestures, he made the recon sign by holding both hands to his eyes like binoculars or made an erasing motion with his hand waving palm down in front of him.

Did Daryl want to just sneak back to the truck and leave or did he want to eliminate the threat. He turned to Merle and mouthed 'how many', asking his brother how many men usually travelled in the Governor's groups.

His older brother held up three fingers, then four.

Nodding, Daryl turned back to the Lieutenant and shrugged, before holding his hand to his eye like a scope.

The Cajun nodded, raising his rifle to give Daryl cover fire should he need it, as Daryl moved around the corner and approached a window carefully.

The first window he came to was a bathroom, so it didn't provide him with a sight of any men, so he moved on, cautiously moving past the backdoor and sliding up to the next window. Slowly he peered around the sill, into the dark room.

He ducked his head back quickly, before peering back into the cabin again. Spying a familiar blonde laid up on a couch, Daryl smirked and looked about for signs of more familiar faces. He eyed the handgun on the coffee table beside her and the way her leg had been splinted and raised a curious brow.

Whistling low, he prepared to duck as she fumbled for the gun.

Thankfully she recognized him before pulling this trigger.

"Going to finish the job you started at the farm?" He asked through the open screen.

"Daryl?" She asked.

Carefully, he moved into view in the window. "Who's with you?"

"Michonne."

Nodding, Daryl squinted at the woman. "Okay, I'm going to come inside, you tell her not to cut my fucking head off, okay?"

Andrea nodded.

Signalling the Lieutenant and Merle to calm down and join him, Daryl approached the backdoor.

Carefully opening the door, Daryl spied the statuesque black woman already waiting for him at the end of the short back hall, arms crossed, face emotionless as usual.

He eyed her quietly, before moving past, his brother and the Lieutenant not getting by so easily.

The woman moved to stop both men, sizing them up coolly.

The Cajun took her in, the face, the katana, the boots, before slipping by her in the narrow space she left with her body.

Merle flashed her a taunting grin and bumped shoulders with her on his way through, not content to slink by like a little bitch.

Taking in the cabin before releasing the tension his body held, Daryl eased onto the coffee table beside Andrea.

"You look like shit," he greeted.

"Thanks. After you and Merle took off, I tried to get out of Dodge as well, but my only option was jumping off the wall."

"The others with you?" Daryl asked.

"Rick and Maggie, they went out on foot yesterday to find some antibiotics for me."

"Antibiotics?"

"Bone went through the skin. They wanted to be sure it wasn't going to kill me. I don't think it's infected yet."

Daryl sneered. "Goddamn. You okay then?"

"Yeah. As long as I don't move it doesn't hurt like a fucker...just don't touch it okay?"

"I won't. What about Rick and Maggie? They okay?"

"Well, Rick was getting pretty restless waiting here with me, but we had no gas to get out of here and with my leg walking wasn't an option. They said they would try to find some gas while they were out, but it's an all day trip in all directions to anywhere on foot."

"How'd you find them?"

"They found me. Didn't make it too far from the wall, Rick was on his way back in for you. Guess he didn't need to go back."

"If he was smart enough he would have kept running in the opposite direction of Woodbury," Daryl replied.

"You find the others?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, they're safe."

Andrea nodded. "Thank God."

"Don't thank him, it was my ass out there criss-crossing the countryside trying to gather you all up."

"Thank you, Daryl." She returned with just a hint of mockery.

He sneered.

Andrea's eyes were focused then beyond Daryl and he looked back to find Merle and the Cajun milling about idly.

"It's okay, he's with me." Daryl said.

"You join up or something, Daryl?" Andrea teased. "What's with the soldier boy?"

"Ah, Lieutenant Lafayette Vancoughnett the fourth," the Cajun introduced politely, extending his hand.

"That's a mouthful," Andrea replied with a small grin. "Andrea."

"That's a lot less admittedly." The Lieutenant said.

"I don't want him in here," Michonne broke in, eyeing Merle with a cold look.

Daryl eyed his brother as Merle prepared for a smart assed reply. He cut him off before Merle could cause shit.

"He'll head back for our vehicle and pull it around out of sight with yours. Won't you Merle?"

His brother beamed. "I would, Darlina, you know that. But unfortunately some asshole forced me to cut my own fucking hand off. Can't shift gears."

"I'll help you, _podna_." The Lieutenant said calmly. "Come on."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Lagniappe** – A pleasant, unexpected surprise.

**Podna** – It ain't a cowboy thing. Cajuns actually call friends 'podna'.


	24. Misère

**Brazen Hussy - You know, I've noticed your review's are all Merle centric...and I dig it! ^_^ (BTW, Merle could have any lady he wants...because he's a Dixon). Thanks again for the kind review!  
**

**Surplus Imagination - Hehe! I'm so glad you caught that little comment about the trip wire...no one else seemed to notice how much subtlety the Lt used to get one in there...at the very least with Andrea back we have someone to be walker fodder if things get intense...o_O Did I type that? Yipes.  
**

**KrisAnthemum221 - Haha, I do the same thing...if I...*ahem* you know...condescended to look at that sort of smuttery.  
**

**GG - Aw, I know that feeling, my mom passed away nearly three years ago at the age of fifty from cancer (proceeded the year before by my grandfather and the year after by my grandmother). The C word is a huge mega-bitch. Anyways, enough about me...I actually think Michonne might have a bit of respect for the nuns, but as always she'd be contemptuous of who carefree they exist. I think she'd try to wake them up to realty a bit.  
**

**Axelrocks - French homework? What's that like? (Yes, that's all I took from your comment...j/k) Norman Reedus is a good person to do a mock-interview with...I'd do it in the style of the gentleman who was interviewing John Lennon for his love-in...except I'd get in the bed with him... (sometimes I think I share too much...I have a feeling this was one of those moments).  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - Yeah, Andrea is a C-word (this time I'm not talking about Cancer). Imagine me writing her into a story and not killing her off...yet. *glares in the general direction of nothing, because who or what would I be glaring at?*  
**

**urm anonymous - Gah, I'm peachy! Love ya back...erm...six eva? (is not cool enough to get what you were pitching) Anyways, thanks a heap for the review! ^_^  
**

**AFishNamedSushi - Still awaiting that update...*impatient glare*^_^ I'm sure there's a point where Daryl will just throw his hands up and let whoever wants to beat Merle about the head to just have at 'er. He must get sick of stepping in to stop Merle from fighting with everyone.  
**

**spygrrl99 - Ah, you have asked the most important question since Edgar Allan Poe posed the query 'People like long assed poems about bells, right? Guys?'. VAN-COO-nee-ay, is how you'd pronounce it. Thanks for playing.  
**

**Rodan78 - Well, thank you. I'm kind of excited to write Michonne and Merle locking horns at some point too. ^_^ Thanks for the review!  
**

**Hey, guys, I just realized that after this update my story will probably be AU...what with that show with all those people with bad skin being back on Sunday...no I wasn't talking about Jersey Shore. I don't even know what that is...you kids with your rock and roll eight track tapes...  
**

**Anyways, I hope you don't mind this being tragically AU after Sunday...I just hope to God it's a good episode...if it's a lemon I'm going to write a very strongly worded letter to the Walking Dead writers and then leave it tucked inside a flaming bag of shit on their front porch *crazy face*  
**

**Oh Holy Hell, I should not write my forwards at two in the morning while under the spell of a flu fever...  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: ****Misère**

****Carol****

The rich dark soil of the convent gardens was still moist from the rain they had gotten a few days ago, it wasn't muddy, but it was cool and soft.

Carol had always loved the feel of dirt under her fingernails. Even before the world went to pot, she enjoyed getting out of the house and Ed's constant hovering to work in her small garden.

Of course, gardening now was vastly different, not only because it wasn't just a hobby anymore, but because she didn't have Sophia to follow behind her with the watering can to douse the freshly seeded earth liberally.

Instead, Carol was followed by a nun wearing a summer dress with a cherry pattern and a large floppy, straw hat.

In the shade of a nearby peach tree, Beth sat with Judith, Annie and the dog, trying to keep both Annie and Judith entertained long enough so that the adults could finish planting the rows of vegetables.

The Mother Superior emerged from the dorms carrying a heavy pail of potatoes that had gone to seed in their root cellar in one hand, a heavy looking hoe in the other.

On the wall the priest passed by, rifle in hand, eyes on the world beyond the heavy brick barrier.

Carol recalled feeling this comfortable once, back on the Greene farm.

She also recalled how badly that had ended.

Quietly following Sister Mary Claire as the nun made a groove in the dirt with the handle of a spade, Carol dropped in the germinated beans that Daryl and the Lieutenant had brought back for the Sisters from one of their first runs, the slightly sweet, fetid stench of the water the beans had been soaking in getting to her in the heat of the Georgian afternoon.

She understood how the nuns had so much canned vegetables now, just by eyeing the bare patch of earth that lay half in shade from the peach tree and half in the sun just between the garden shed and the dorms. It was a good sized plot and each row was devoted entirely to a particular vegetable.

Beans, peas, carrots, onions all got their own rows, potatoes and corn got two or three each. In the corner nearest the dorms was a patch of rhubarb, a thicket of strawberries pushing up through the earth in the corner by the garden shed.

Carol could have honestly spent the rest of her life in that garden making things grow.

But there was an absence. An empty spot behind her, reminding her that as free as she was now without Ed looming, she wasn't ever going to have that world she used to dream about.

Leveling her chin with the ground, she bowed her head back to her work, looking up only when the pail of potatoes was dropped and the Mother Superior was scrabbling after the dog who had taken off after one of Sister Gertrude's cats.

"Oh no, you don't!" The head nun cried, scooping the dog up deftly and holding it as it squirmed for release. "Not across our newly seeded garden, little lady!"

From where he was planting the cucumbers, Herschel looked up and laughed. "That girl needs a leash for her pup." He pointed out warmly.

The Mother Superior handed the dog back to Annie, who could barely carry the thing. "What we need is for that Cajun to stop bringing home strays." She stated.

Carol knew the woman was joking, but it only reminded her that they were quite probably a huge burden on the woman and her group.

The woman seemed to notice her poor choice in words and touched a hand to her chest. "I didn't mean it like that," she said softly. "If anything I'm happy to have the company…the extra hands don't hurt either." She went on with a smile, motioning to the garden.

"I don't mind," Carol replied, moving with Sister Mary Claire, dropping beans into the groove. "Keeps my mind occupied and my hands busy."

Holding out a worn old pair of gardening gloves to her, the nun smiled. "Here, honey, you can use these old gloves."

"I'm okay." Carol replied. She never liked wearing gloves while gardening, it desensitized her to the intricate tasks of the job. She only ever wore them when pulling the stubborn patch of Russian thistle that used to grow in the shady end of her garden plot.

"Mother Superior?" The youngest nun asked, coming to a neat stop at the very edge of the garden. "Have you seen Sister Gertrude?"

"No, I haven't, did you check her room? She was feeling a little under the weather this morning, I gave her time off from her chores for a rest."

"She isn't there."

"Maybe she's out back feeding her cats, heaven knows she likes to dote on those creatures."

"She wasn't there either. I thought maybe she'd be in the kitchen, we're supposed to get lunch ready soon."

Carol wiped her hands off and stood up as Sister Mary Claire stopped her work to eye the conversation.

"Well, she has to be somewhere. Poor thing can't get far these days." Seeing the young nuns worried face, the Mother Superior smiled sweetly and touched her shoulder. "Don't worry, honey, we'll find her. She might have just gone to commune."

The young nun nodded. "Okay. I'll keep looking."

"Thank you. We'll keep an eye out as well."

Exchanging a glance with Beth and Herschel, Carol touched her hands to her ass, wiping the dirt off them completely on her pants. It used to be you would wash them in a nice clean bathroom or with the garden hose, but times being what they were…

"Maybe we should look around for her," Carl suggested from where he was watering the row that Herschel was planting, setting down the watering can.

A scream coming from the back of the church had Carol grabbing the nearest thing to a weapon she could find, which happened to be the spade that Sister Mary Claire had left forgotten on the ground near her.

She ran without thinking towards the source of the screams, followed by the others. Beth staying behind with the children, watching nervously as the others tore off.

The lot of them thundered around the corner of the church to find a Sister Mary Monica on the ground by the back gate, Sister Gertrude in her habit huddled over her.

The younger nun was screaming as her intestines were being pulled from her stomach like a never ending handkerchief trick by the older nun, who was greedily shoving them into her mouth.

Without thinking Carol gripped the spade and stepping forward slammed the metal edge against Sister Gertrude's temple, knocking the walker-nun off Sister Mary Monica. She didn't stop hitting the woman until the walker was still, hand still clenched around intestine.

Shaking in shock, Sister Mary Monica fell deathly still at almost the same moment as the walker-nun fell.

Wiping thick, dark walker blood off her forehead with her wrist, Carol eyed the scene for a moment. The two dead nuns and a torn apart cat that was nothing more than fluff and gore, before taking the spade to Sister Mary Monica's head without hesitation. Before winter had set in she would have hesitated, offered kind words of comfort to the nuns, but she knew how attached people were to the bodies of loved ones and thought it best to just get it over with, ensure no further mistakes happened.

Turning around she found Herschel hobbling up, slowed down some by his missing limb, the small group of nuns who had followed her looking on with horrified faces. Only Carl and Sasha were steady and calm, eyeing the mess quietly.

"She must have passed away in her sleep," Carol offered the nuns softly. "I'm sorry."

The Mother Superior held her hand to her mouth. After a shell shocked moment, the woman removed it, mouth moving, but nothing coming out.

Behind her the youngest nun fell to her knees and vomited onto the grass, as the two other nuns who followed them backed away slowly from the whole mess.

Father O'Rourke joined them on the wall, eyeing the scene with a grim set mouth. Running a hand through his tousled brown hair, he hopped down, handing the rifle off to Sister Mary Agnes.

"I'll dig the graves." He said. "Take my watch."

The woman made no effort to move.

Sasha stepped forward from where she joined them, taking the rifle. "I'll take your watch."

Father O'Rourke nodded his thanks, taking the bloody spade from Carol.

Sister Mary Agnes and Mary Claire turned tail and ran for the front of the church, followed by a sobbing Sister Mary Elizabeth.

The only living nun to remain at the scene was the Mother Superior who continued to remain in her spot.

"I'm sorry," Carol repeated, touching the woman's shoulder gingerly.

Looking to the sky, the woman seemed to be thinking something over for a brief moment, before nodding. "Me too."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Carol and Herschel did their best to finish the gardening while the nuns buried their dead, they didn't get much done between watching Judith and distracting Annie, as Beth took over the front gate for Sister Joan who reacted a lot more staunchly at the news than they had expected.

With Judith in the sling Daryl had fashioned for her and covered from the sun, Carol tried to make a straight groove for Herschel, but it wasn't easy with one free hand and Herschel wasn't the best at keeping upright in the soft soil. Only Carl seemed to be pulling his weight, moving behind them with the watering can, stepping on the earth to cover the seeds that Herschel dropped.

Knowing the seeds had to get into the ground that day, they kept on.

It was around the time just before the sun began setting that Glenn and the others returned from their supply run and they had more hands to help get the garden in. It was at that time too that Father O'Rourke relieved Sasha from the wall, telling her that the nuns were going to sequester themselves in the church for the remainder of the night to pray for the dead.

They finished the garden just as the sun turned to liquid gold in the Western sky, the light spreading out across the horizon just beyond the trees of the woods that protected the convent from prying eyes.

Taking Judith in one hand and Annie's hand in her other, Carol headed for the dorms. She didn't want either of them out of her sight, not until she felt safe again within the walls.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Beth and Carol made food that night, while the men seemed to go overboard with the patrols. It was silly to walk around with weapons in a place that was secure from the outside world, but with an attack coming from within, everyone was on edge.

Keeping one eye on Annie and Judith in the corner of the kitchen and another on the meal she was preparing kept Carol occupied. She didn't dare make the same mistake that she had with Sophia.

Annie, with that child-like intuition that told her that night wasn't a good one to misbehave on, kept quiet and self-entertained between trying to have a tea party with Boo and trying to keep Judith happy in the empty kitchen drawer they placed her in.

Boo, having been outside the walls, kept very close to Annie and Judith as well, perhaps sensing that something had happened that warranted her to keep a watchful eye over the human that secreted her scraps of food from her plate and the tiny thing that squirmed and cooed and fascinated her so.

Sounds of footsteps approaching had Carol glancing over her shoulder.

Glenn stepped into the kitchen looking beat down and in need of a good rest.

Forcing a smile in his direction, Carol continued on, keeping her eyes split between the children and the meal. She had been hoping it was Daryl. They were supposed to be back by now. Not to say she felt something bad happened, but she was hoping his presence would make her feel a little safer after what happened.

Not to belittle Glenn's abilities. He was perhaps one of her favourite people, because he was so underestimated. And she knew he could protect them. The young man seemed to have many skills he kept hidden when it came to handling the walkers.

"The Sisters are refusing to eat tonight." He said softly.

Carol nodded. "I'm sure the leftovers will be okay for breakfast for them tomorrow then."

Removing the battered baseball cap he had found while out on the supply run, the Asian hesitated at her side. "I heard you swing a mean spade."

She knew he was trying to make her feel a little less horrible about the incident, so she offered him a small grin. "I sort of reacted without really thinking."

"Isn't that a good thing these days?" He asked.

"Is Father O'Rourke eating?"

"Yeah. I think he's keeping a pretty cool head in all this, to be honest. Actually," Glenn leaned in, "between you and me I think he used to be a thug or something for the mob."

That managed to get a small, breathy laugh from Carol.

"I'm serious, got a flash of a tat on his neck yesterday. Think it was a pistol." Glenn hopped up onto the counter beside her.

It felt better knowing Glenn was facing the direction of the children as Carol put more concentration on cooking with him there.

Behind her Beth dropped a pan and cursed softly, Carl stepping out of the shadows where he must have been following Glenn to pick it up for her.

Carol eyed the young man. He had come a long way from the boy he was when they first met, he was more like his father every day.

"I kind of feel bad for the Sisters," Glenn went on gently. "They seemed like the last of the innocents, you know?"

Reaching out, Carol touched his knee warmly. "They're a lot stronger than they look," she said. "It'll give them some things to think about, but I think they'll be okay. Who knows, it may make them stronger, more wary."

Glenn nodded, eyeing her carefully.

Carol knew that look. People got it whenever she talked about loss and coming out stronger. She hadn't had anyone look at her like that in months though. It felt oddly comforting.

"I just wish it didn't have to be like this for them." He huffed. "I wish it didn't have to be like this for any of us."

"You're about eight months too late on the wistful thinking, Glenn."

The young man laughed. "Yeah."

Stirring the vegetable soup so it didn't burn, Carol glanced over to check on the children quickly, finding Annie stroking Judith's soft, downy hair and humming to her quietly.

"You know what's really messed up?" Glenn went on. "I'm kind of glad I wound up with all of you. Rick and Daryl and you and Maggie." He grinned shyly. "Best cobbled together family-like group an ex-pizza boy like me could ask for."

"Yeah, I especially like the uncle who brings us squirrel to eat almost daily," Carl retorted dryly from his spot near Beth.

Carol laughed at the boy's dry humour.

"Nothing wrong with squirrel," Tyreese said joining them with his group close behind. "It's when they start bringing you day old road kill raccoon that you begin to wish for fresh squirrel."

Smiling at them, Carol gestured to the small kitchen table. "You may as well grab a seat in here. I think dinner's going to be informal tonight."

"Thank you." He replied, pulling a chair out for Sasha. "Now that we're talking about squirrel, I kind of have a craving for it."

"Unfortunately for you its meatless canned vegetable soup." Carol replied, dishing some out for Glenn to take to the others.

"Fortunately for you," Tyreese returned. "They used to call me 'The Goat', because I'll eat anything."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Misère** – Misery, trouble.


	25. Le Raconteur

**Brazen Hussy - This chapter is chock full that guy...you know the one...that one that we try not to talk about.**

**Lilone1776 - The thing about Carol is she's a strong, believeable female character who doesn't go looking for fights but won't put up with shit.**

**sammipoop - Aw, thanks. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. ^_^**

**crystal2817 - Ugh, I know. If they don't have any angsty goodness I might explode. Waited two damned months for nothing...BS...**

**bspooky3 - Thanks! I enjoy getting the kinds of reviews you just gave me! ^_^ (I know what it's like waiting for updates of your favourite story, which is why I try to update so fast).**

**skittletitz - I recognize you! Ehehehe...Bad ass Carol is beautiful. Well, Melissa McBride is gorgeous anyways, but especially when she's kicking ass as Carol. (I may have a lady crush on the woman...)**

**ldyjaydin - Agreed! I shall try to have more kick ass Carol in later chapters.  
**

**GG - Haha! That damned turkey isn't safe yet...**

**AFishNamedSushi - I know! I'm eager for the reunion between Daryl and Carol and the Lt and Old Missy as well! That should make for a good chapter...I hope. Anyways, can't wait for your update...*excited***

**Surplus Imagination - Okay, your review was hilariously distracted...made me laugh so hard...still am actually. Thanks for that! I hope you found a good veggie soup in your cupboards...or at least a decent substitute. ^_^ As always, thanks for your review!**

**Axelrocks - The thing that is hard, is that the characters in the show seem to be different in some aspects from their comic selves and since Tyreese hasn't been in the show much, I was struggling with how to portray him (I'm hoping to bluff my way through some generic lines of his until the shows gives me a good lead on how they want him portrayed). Anyways, thanks for the review! They are much appreciated.**

**Okay, I wasn't going to update again before Sunday...but eff it, I finished this chapter early and thought, why keep it to myself when I can post it? Right? Hell, can you believe this story has gone on this long? Daymn. It's getting out of hand...**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Le Raconteur**

****The Lieutenant****

It probably wasn't the best night of his entire life.

Sitting in a dark corner watching the woman named Michonne eye Merle with deadly intent, watching Daryl try to find things to distract Merle with so he wouldn't start trouble, watching the friendly blonde try to remain as still as possible so as not to move her bad leg.

If he had to be honest, the Lieutenant would have admitted that he'd rather still be overseas in the heart of insurgent territory instead of watching a slow moving train wreck. Or hell, at the moment he'd do with being in the middle of a hungry horde of uggies.

Though in Merle's defence, that Michonne woman looked like she was ready to hate-fuck the entire world with the sharp end of her sword. Of course on the other side of that argument, Merle was a hard man to get along with.

Awkwardly trying to find something to do with his long, lean frame, the Cajun settled against the refrigerator and folded his arms, but his rifle dug into his back unnaturally, so he shifted again, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His rifle began sliding off the slumped shoulder, so he stood up straight and curled his hands into loose fists at his side.

"So, a Lieutenant, huh?" Andrea asked.

All eyes turned on the soldier and the Lieutenant felt more awkward as he stooped over slightly in the corner, wedged between the wall and the fridge.

"Sure enough." He replied.

"You look young," Michonne spat. It was almost accusatory.

"Uh…thank you?"

The woman glared at him unflinchingly.

Wondering if he was supposed to add something else to the comment, the Cajun shifted on his feet under the black woman's stony gaze.

"Good genes," he added nervously. "My _Mamere_ would argue that point though, considering the sperm donor from which sprung my single cell of life…I guess that'd be the term. Course we have a saying down on the bayou, 'age is not important unless you're a cheese'. Which…I suppose would also translate to wines and some of the…more," he cleared his throat, "ah, exotic antiques. Louis the fourteenth clocks or…what have you…"

The woman continued to eye him steadily.

Using an admittedly juvenile trick, the Lieutenant pointed casually at a direction behind the woman, distracting her even gaze long enough for him to slip away, joining Merle in the little kitchenette, tucking himself behind the older Dixon brother.

What was it the Old Missy had said? Out of sight, out of mind? Yes. Seemed like a good tactical maneuver when it came to the woman with the sword.

"So? How did you like your stay at Woodbury?" Merle purred in his smug, raspy tone, eyeing Michonne with sparkling blue eyes.

"I stabbed your boss in the eye with a piece of glass." She replied coolly. "Still trying to decide what I want to give you as a way of thanks."

Merle beamed at her. "Aw, brown sugar, you don't have to give me anything. But if you want, you can bring that cute little blade of yours over here and we can compare sizes."

The woman drew her katana with a snap of her wrist. "Okay."

Deciding that taking cover by Merle had been a grave error in judgement, the Cajun took a step back from the man, hoping to slip away.

Without even looking, Merle reached back with his good hand and caught him by the front of his vest, yanking him back to his original spot just behind him.

"Look now, sweetheart, you scared the Cajun." Merle taunted.

"Ain't scared, just smarter than the average bear." The Lieutenant replied casually. "And I'd thank you not to bring me anywhere near your crazy ass when you start taunting women with swords."

Merle glanced over his shoulder at him, grinning. "She isn't going to try anything." He peered back at Michonne. "Isn't that right, brown sugar?"

The woman took a few steps towards Merle.

"Merle, if you can't be nice we'll tie you up on the roof again," Andrea growled from the sofa. "Michonne, don't kill Merle with his brother in the room, it'd be very awkward for everyone."

Peering around Merle, the Lieutenant offered Michonne a crooked grin. "I'd also be very grateful if you waited until I was clear before swinging that thing, _beb_."

The woman glared at Merle for a long, still moment, before replacing her katana on her back.

"Soon." She stated firmly.

"I look forward to it." Merle replied.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

"How you ever survived childhood under one roof with that man is beyond me," the Lieutenant mused to Daryl later that night as Andrea slept beside them on the sofa. "Seems hell bent on making enemies."

In the kitchen Merle continued to loiter, eyeing Michonne who continued to stand just by the door, glaring back at him.

The two hadn't moved since their earlier disagreement and the Cajun and Daryl were both afraid to get some rest lest the two kill each other in the night.

So they sat up, watching the two eyeing each other and idly chatting to pass the time, as Daryl kept another eye on the world beyond the curtained window through a little gap he left.

"Barely did," Daryl grunted.

"Think I'm finally beginning to figure him out, though."

"Yeah, I'd love to read that book when you get it bound in leather." Daryl replied, finger rubbing against the side of his crossbow.

"Hey, you ever going to tell me about you and Carol?" The Lieutenant asked, leaning in conspiratorially towards Daryl.

The youngest Dixon eyed him. "You ever going to tell me why a dumb assed Cajun like you became a Marine?"

"Aw, that's a boring story. But I'll do you one better," the Cajun supplied with a grin. "Now this is a story my _Mamere_ used to tell me, about the time her and my _Papere_ were haunted by an old boo hag that lived in the swamp. You ever hear about a boo hag, _Texian_?"

Daryl shook his head. "Naw."

"Well, these boo hags, they like to slip into your house through small spaces and what they do is hover over your sleeping body and steal your breath right out of your lungs. Then they skin you and wear your skin around, because they don't have skin of their own.

Anyways, my _Mamere_ one night, back when she was just young and freshly wedded to my granddaddy, well she heard this noise outside their home. She didn't think much about it, always possum's and raccoon's outside rattling around, so there was nothing to worry her.

After about an hour, she decided to head to bed, my _Papere_ was going to stay up a bit and read, so he stayed in the parlour.

About one in the morning, my granddaddy had fallen asleep in his chair in the parlour and my _Mamere_ woke up to this skinless being hovering over her, sucking the air out of her lungs.

She couldn't scream, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but stare into the black eyes of this thing as it slowly drained her energy.

Now, about that time, as my _Mamere_ struggled to breathe, her cat knocked over the lamp in the parlour and woke up my _Papere_, well he got up and ambled into the bedroom, half asleep, found this thing on top of my grandmother.

At first, he thought she was cheating on him, but…when he woke up enough to realize it was something with sticky, bloody, bare muscles and tendons, he took the first thing he could find – which happened to have been the heavy book he had been reading – and let her have it in the back of the head.

The thing became a blur of colour and disappeared somewhere past him, into the hall.

My _Papere_ locked the bedroom door behind it and stayed awake on guard all night, watching over my _Mamere_ until the sun peeked over the horizon and the fog started to roll off the swamp into the low lying areas.

Until the day he died, my grandfather always went to bed with his wife after that incident just to keep her safe from the boo hag."

Daryl was quiet for a moment, processing the story.

"Why don't you tell him about your chupacabra, baby brother?" Merle stated from the kitchen.

Looking up both men found Merle and Michonne had stopped their glaring contest and were both staring at them.

"Shut up, Merle." Daryl sniffed.

"Chupacabra's aren't anything to laugh at, _grande beede_. You know what they do? They drink blood, suck you dry…course they prefer livestock, but still…wouldn't want to be the first man to find out that they also like human." The Lieutenant stated.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

He was doing a walk through inspection of the cabin in the hours just before dawn, when Daryl caught him in the back mudroom.

"Can I have a word?" The youngest Dixon asked.

Adjusting the rifle strap on his shoulder, the Lieutenant nodded. "Sure thing. What's eating you, _cabri_?"

Glancing in the direction of the short hall where the main room lay, Daryl shifted on his feet.

"I didn't want to leave Merle at the convent with Glenn, bad history there, but…Merle and Rick don't really get along either. I need you to play peace keeper between the two for me if I'm not around or otherwise indisposed."

The Lieutenant smirked. "Well, I'm not the UN, I'm only one man. But I got your back. Seems like you got your hands full anyways, may as well make myself useful."

Daryl nodded his thanks and wandered back into the main room before Merle and Michonne could kill each other.

Standing in the mudroom for a moment, the Cajun peeked out the backdoor window, looking for threats, before following Daryl.

He found that the youngest Dixon must have stepped into the room at the right moment, as the Lieutenant caught the tail end of an exchange between Merle and Michonne being diffused by Daryl.

"Keep your brother on a leash around me, redneck," Michonne snarled at Daryl.

"Mind your manners, brown sugar," Merle spat darkly at the woman.

Michonne took a step towards Merle. "Why am I not surprised the backwoods pig fucker from the Appalachians is a racist?"

Sensing an impending bloodbath, the Cajun looked at Daryl who was torn between defending his brother and letting the woman have at him.

"When I was eleven I broke my arm falling out of a tree while trying to spy on my neighbour's teenaged daughter undressing," the Lieutenant blurted out loudly.

Everyone stopped in the middle of what they were doing to give him mildly disturbed looks.

"My best friend Aidan dared me to climb this tree, to see if I could actually see the girl naked. He said he'd pay me ten dollars if I could tell him what a girl's _galette_ looked like. Like he thought she'd get undressed and show me everything." The Cajun went on after he was sure he had everyone's full attention. "So, I found this old mossy oak and climbed up her like a little squirrel. I was doing pretty good, until the branch broke…got one hell of a whooping from my _Mamere_ when she found out why I was up that tree in the first place."

Everyone continued to stare at him quietly.

"When I got out of the hospital the next day, Aidan gave me five dollars, because I saw the girl's breasts and I kept my mouth shut. Plus, at eleven, seeing a teenaged girl's breasts made me the coolest kid in class that year. So, I did pretty good for myself, considering what I did was highly immoral and illegal. But the best part of it all was that my _Mamere_ made me go and apologize to the girl. When I explained the situation and what happened, she actually bent down and gave me my first kiss, because I explained to her that I had picked her, because she was the prettiest girl I knew…course she slapped me first…but the kiss made up for it. That girl ran hot and cold. Course that was before I knew about my daddy and his habits."

There was absolute silence from everyone, before Michonne turned cold eyes back on Merle.

"Stay the hell away from me, redneck."

"Sure thing, darling." He replied casually.

Moving past the Lieutenant, Michonne headed for the back bedroom of the cabin, away from everyone, leaving Merle to eye the Cajun suspiciously.

"Were they at least nice tits?" Merle asked.

"You outta be a reporter, Merle, because you ask the hard hitting questions." The Lieutenant replied.

"Were they?" Daryl demanded.

Having the distinct feeling that he was being mocked, the Lieutenant eyed the Dixon brothers for a moment, before frowning. "They were the first breasts I'd ever seen, of course they were nice."

"Dumb ass," Merle grunted, with a grin.

Daryl hid his subtle grin by rubbing at his goat scruff idly.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Raconteur** – Storyteller

**Beb** – Another Cajun term of endearment.

**Galette** - Pussy


	26. Ciel

**Brazen Hussy - (I kinda ship them too...)**

**skittletitz - Ehehe, your review made me giggle. Ah, boo hags are terrifying, aren't they? I read about them as a child and it has scarred me ever since. The thing that was super creepy was sometimes my pet cat would perch on my chest in my sleep and I'd wake scared witless thinking it was a boo hag on me.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - I accept your dare...soon...**

**crystal2817 - I swear you give me one worded reviews to trip me up...don'tcha? Don'tcha? ^_^ Anyways, thanks for the review.**

**Axelrocks - I love the old 'lookit that' trick. ^_^ Best way to get out of a tense situation.**

**Lilone1776 - I wonder if anyone's noticed that despite being a soldier the Lt tends to try and solve things peacefully before resorting to threatening to cut people's heads off...? Also unrelated to your review, but on the same topic, I wonder if anyone's noticed the symbolism behind the nuns' names yet...?**

**carylfan - Love that Daryl knows the Lt well enough to get him chatting away about some story of his to distract him from the game of twenty questions. ^_^**

**GG - Wow, I'm sure Fay would be flattered by your offer. LOL! Yeah, Daryl's got a time on his hands coming up...Merle just can't be civil with others. **

**AFishNamedSushi - Ah, that episode, right?! I mean, good God! Well, anways I hope these updates can soothe us fans...**

**Who's got two thumbs and an AU story? This kid! Aw-yeah! Anyways, I hope that doesn't ruin your reading experience...**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Ciel**

****Daryl****

The Eastern skies beyond the trees was beginning to shift from deep indigo blue into a soft pastel purple, the colour of wild crocus', promising a sweet, kind sunrise.

Leaning against the wall by the window, the hunter-gatherer eyed the still world, enjoying the peace he finally managed to find after a night of getting between Merle and Michonne.

Behind him Andrea was awake, chatting softly with the Cajun who seemed intent on asking a million questions about the group, about Rick, about what happened in Atlanta and all things in between.

Andrea didn't seem to mind, though Daryl had the distinct feeling she was looking to make more than just a friend out of the soldier.

For the first time in days Daryl had nothing better to do than just sit and wait.

What the hell did he do before all this? Between hauling Merle out of the clink and scratching to survive in a world that didn't like the looks of him enough to give him honest work, he had nothing before all this. Nothing but sit on his ass at home repairing engines to vehicles he was sure Merle stole, enough to resell them for some money.

Now, it seemed like he'd never get used to just sitting around anymore.

Bouncing his leg to release some of the energy that was piling up inside his muscles, the youngest Dixon idly chewed his thumbnail and waited, watching the sky change from pastel purple to pink, then deepening into orange and red and finally returning to pastels purple again as the sky lightened to a bluer hue.

Someone pulled up a seat on the arm of an overstuffed chair beside him and Daryl glanced over, expecting the Cajun, but finding Merle eyeing the same sunrise quietly.

"Okay, baby brother," Merle began quietly, keeping their conversation between them. "Out with it. You've been acting like there's a shard of glass in your panties poking your cooch since we got back from Woodbury."

Daryl glowered at the world outside.

"What? You pissed because I left your ass in Atlanta?"

"Why can't you ever just shut up and try to get along with people?" Daryl snapped. "It'd make my life so much easier."

"Aw, honeycakes," Merle taunted. "Is life riding your ass? Hm? Want me to find a violin to play for you?"

Daryl honestly had no idea why he ever tried to communicate with his brother. The dumb ass just couldn't for once in his life even pretend to give a good goddamned about anyone.

"Look, life is hard, baby bro. You and I know this better than anyone," Merle began. "Which is why you and I need to have each other's backs. We're blood, we're stronger together."

"We'd be a lot more stronger if you stopped trying to pick fights with everyone. Make some allies, Merle. Fuck." Daryl spat.

"I did make allies," Merle stated calmly. "Left them behind in Woodbury to save your scrawny ass."

Daryl glanced over at his older brother.

"That was _my_ group," Merle said. "I left them behind for you. That's what brothers do."

Wincing, Daryl turned back to the sunrise.

"I'm not asking you to leave them, baby bro. God knows I care for your dumb ass enough not to ask you to make that decision, I just want to know you have my back."

"Always," Daryl stated.

"Good, because that head nun asked me to stay at the convent when all this is over with. I've been thinking it'd be nice, close to you at the prison, far enough away that Officer Friendly and I won't be crossing paths often."

Daryl smiled a little. "You at a convent?"

"Hell yeah, teach them women what they don't know how, Dixon style." Merle replied with a broad grin.

"I'm going to have to warn that Cajun," Daryl teased.

"Naw, let him find out the hard way."

The two Dixon brothers fell silent.

"That woman of yours is a feisty little thing, isn't she?"

"What woman?" Daryl snarled.

"You can fool a lot of people, Darlina, but you can't ever fool old Merle." His brother growled. "You should be thankful, she's half the reason I decided not to nag you about coming with me."

"I thought I told you not to talk to her," Daryl stated.

Merle laughed. "Since when have I ever listened to you, little brother?"

"Yeah, well, you may be older, but you're not any wiser, old man."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

It was about noon when a handful of walkers staggered into the clearing. Daryl watched them quietly for a moment with the Lieutenant at his side.

"What do you want to do about them?" The Cajun asked after they watched the dumb bastards stagger around on the trail for a bit.

Daryl squinted at them. "Well, I don't want them out there when Rick and Maggie get back, best clear them out. Think it's been long enough, only a few of them." Turning away from the window, Daryl scooped up his crossbow. "Merle you're with us," he commanded. "You stay with Andrea," he motioned to Michonne.

"Why? Because it's women's work?" She demanded. "Want me to have a nice little meal laid out for you when you get back too?"

Daryl eyed the woman for a moment, before deciding to just ignore her attitude. He wasn't like Merle, he didn't rise to unnecessary challenges.

Behind him Merle scoffed at the woman and followed his baby brother out the back way.

Only the Lieutenant lingered long enough to offer a soft spoken explanation.

Waiting in the back mudroom, Daryl eyed the empty space behind the cabin.

The walkers were around front, but he preferred to get a drop on them around a corner then face on.

As all three men gathered in the mudroom, Daryl nodded and opened the door, springing into the world beyond with his crossbow aimed, ready to fire.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

It took them about fifteen minutes to clear the walkers, working with melee weapons mostly to keep silent.

Dragging the corpses into a pile in the woods, the three men took a moment, eyeing the trees around them.

"You know," Merle began with a grin. "Think when we finish here, I might retire in Florida."

The Cajun chuckled. "I heard Tallahassee's nice."

"Hell, head on over to Cali and live in one of them big ol' mansions."

"After you clear uggies out, I'm sure they'd be just darling."

Eyeing the two, Daryl snorted. "You ladies done wishing and praying? We gotta get back."

"Uggies?" Merle asked on their way back up the trail. "That what you coonasses call 'em back on the bayou?"

"Naw, it's what we in the Marine corps affectionately called them. The higher up's called them 'infected', like they were just sick or something."

"We're all infected," Daryl spat.

"What do you mean?" The Cajun asked.

Turning on the soldier, Daryl eyed him quietly. "I mean we have it in us. When we die, we become them. Didn't they tell you that?"

It kind of felt odd being in Rick's position, telling someone who was miserable enough to begin with that they were just a heartbeat away from being a mindless, drooling monster, but watching the Cajun's face as he worked this information out actually hurt a little. The poor bastard had no idea just what kind of world they were in now.

"Okay," the man replied softly. "So we're infected. Don't mean we just become one, right? We have to die?"

"As far as I know."

The Lieutenant nodded, face a myriad of conflicting emotions. "Alright."

They continued walking, heading for the cabin.

"Daryl," the man said as they reached the back door, stopping him before he could follow Merle inside. "Something happens to me, you'll be the one to put me down, right?"

Eyeing the Cajun, Daryl decided he didn't want to be the man to do it, but he also knew he wouldn't want anyone else to either.

"Yeah," he said, "just try not to let anything happen to you. I don't want dumb assed Cajun brain juice all over my boots."

"Grey matter, _couyon_," the man shot back. "And I suppose this means I'll have to cancel my Russian roulette tournament down at the VFW, but for you I'll put it on hold."

"Much obliged," Daryl replied, pushing into the cabin.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

He was sitting beside Andrea later that afternoon, watching the Cajun as he sat propped up in the corner, eyes closed, mouth open slightly.

"Creepy as hell," Daryl muttered. "The man doesn't make a damned sound when he sleeps."

Andrea laughed softly. "He's kind of odd, isn't he?"

"He's kind of fucking nuts. You know he names his weapons?"

"What?"

"Yeah, sure enough," Daryl handed her Salt. "Here, got his knife."

The blonde looked the weapon over with a broad grin. "Why Salt?"

"Long story, don't ask him because God knows he'll tell you in great detail," Daryl stated.

She passed the knife back gingerly. "What is his group like?"

"Good people, nuns, a priest and little girl."

"So they're not a threat?"

"They're not looking to take what we have, if that's what you mean. They ain't like the Governor."

Looking towards Michonne who was haunting a corner of the kitchen, sneering in the general direction of the bedroom where Merle disappeared to rest, Andrea sighed. "I'm sorry about this whole mess." She said. "We were wandering and they took us in—"

"It's okay." Daryl stated. "I wanted to go back for you on the farm, but…Rick said it was too dangerous."

"Rick was right. I did okay on my own for a bit, anyways."

They fell silent.

"Rick wants to go back to Woodbury, wants to wipe them out."

"It's them or us, I suppose." Daryl said.

"I wish it didn't have to be this way," she said. "Most of them are decent people."

"Yeah, well, they weren't so decent when they were shouting for my blood in that areana. Besides, they're being led by a real asshole."

"When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die," the Cajun spoke up suddenly, his usually smooth, fluid drawl husky with sleep.

Daryl eyed him, still sitting quietly, eyes closed, mouth pulled into his cat-like, smug smirk. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to know you still have my knife, _Texian_."

"Yeah, well I like it, so you ain't getting it back."

"That's fine, you keep a hold on it and I'll just tell everyone you keep it because you want a little part of me with you at all times because it makes you feel safe."

"Whatever," Daryl stated, "it's still a nice knife."

"Army issued," the Cajun said, pushing to his feet with the snap and pop of his joints. "Civvies can't find none to equal her on the open market."

All conversation died at the sound of tires crunching over gravel outside the front door and Daryl stood up, moving to the window to peer out.

A blue Dodge pulled up in front of the cabin, Rick and Maggie inside.

Immediately he tensed and searched out the cabin with his eyes for Merle, trying to locate his brother. Best to interfere with having Rick see Merle first and shooting.

Thankfully his brother was still in the bedroom, snoring lightly and the Cajun was moving towards the room, nodding to Daryl on his way through the door.

From her corner Michonne glowered at the door, eyes spitting fire.

Quickly, Daryl dashed outside, approaching the truck.

"Need help with that?" He asked Maggie as she unloaded a heavy canvas bag.

The woman spun on him with wide eyes, Rick stepping out from around the truck quickly.

The two eyed him like he was some kind of alien species that landed before the truck in a blue and pink spaceship.

Rick looked rough, but he had looked rougher than usual lately, still his blue eyes flickered over Daryl, before he took a step forward.

Daryl couldn't help but give them both a wicked look, proud that he caught them unaware.

"Daryl? How the hell…?" Maggie began.

Taking the bag from her, he shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Surprised by a tackle hug from Rick, Daryl tensed, but with his hands full of bag, he couldn't do much about the greeting.

Nodding at the man as he released him, Daryl hesitated.

"Good to see you two made it out," he said simply.

Rick eyed him with that wounded puppy look he got. "The group…"

"They're fine. I think we only lost two…Axel and some guy, Ben, from another group that was with Carl."

"My dad? Beth? Glenn?" Maggie demanded, eyes lighting up.

"They're fine. They're all fine. I stashed everyone somewhere safe." Daryl moved between Maggie and the door nervously. "Before you go inside, I need to have a word."

The two narrowed their eyes at him.

"Merle's in there," Daryl said, deciding it was best to just rip the bandage off quickly.

"Merle?" Maggie was the one to fly off the handle. "The man who beat Glenn to a pulp?"

"Yeah, my _brother_. Merle."

"And you just led him to where we are?" She asked.

"He fell into the wrong group," Daryl growled. "Can't blame him after what happened in Atlanta. Nobody's safe out here without someone to have your back. But he's my brother."

A muscle twitched in Rick's jaw, but he said nothing.

"Rick?" Maggie urged, encouraging their leader to do something without using so many words.

Placing a hand on Daryl's shoulder, Rick maneuvered him away from Maggie, towards the front of the truck.

Eyeing their surroundings for a moment, looking for threats before giving his full attention to Daryl, Rick sighed. "You swear to me your brother won't be any trouble and I'll believe you."

"Well, he's still an asshole," Daryl replied. "But he won't hurt anyone."

"And how'd Glenn react to seeing him?" Rick demanded.

"About as you'd expect."

Nodding, the taller man shifted on his feet. "You keep your brother out of my face for now," he stated. "We'll deal with the problem once we get everyone back together. I just want to get the group back together first, then we'll deal with Merle."

Daryl nodded. "Okay. Rick?" He stopped the man's retreat. "There's something else I should tell you before you head inside."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Ciel** – Sky or heaven.


	27. Chapelet

**Surplus Imagination - I have it on good authority that Tallahassee is lovely. I've never been, but heard lovely things about the lovely people who live there. Very friendly and sweet people, I've heard. (Really wish chocolate could be sent via email...) V_V**

**Sira1 - Aw, thank you. I really, really love my reviews. ^_^**

**Axelrocks - The thing about Melissa McBride is that her eyes are so damned big and beautiful and expressive, that she can emote with just a look.**

**Brazen Hussy - Get out of my head! (I kind of ship Merle and Michonne too...a little...)**

**Violeta27 - She ain't gonna shack up with Tyreese if I can help it, sister! (Ah, the beauty of fanfiction...) Slutmonger, eh? Best last name anyone had ever. XD**

**skittletitz - Yeah, you never really can fool family, can you?**

**Lilone1776 - Daryl is just one of those people that attracts all kinds...I kind of like that he isn't so alone anymore. He needs more love. And not just the kind we all know Carol is going to provide him (giggity!)**

**AFishNamedSushi - I'm not digging shithouse rat crazy Rick right now...it'd be better if they didn't show his delusions, but alluded to them...but whatever, I'm not a professional television writer, so...meh.**

**I had half a day in class today, so enjoy this chapter I wrote while doing nothing. *blissfully doing nothing***

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Chapelet**

****The Lieutenant****

Merle was easily distracted once you found the right topic.

So, the Cajun sat himself down on an old trunk at the end of the bed and opened up a discussion about women and sex with him.

Of course talking about women and sex could only distract so long before the man heard boots and the sounds of talking coming from the main room of the house.

It was almost like a light flashed behind the older Dixon's blue eyes and he was suddenly re-energized, pushing to his feet.

The Lieutenant stood up as well, prepared to prevent whatever Daryl believed would happen between Merle and the man named Rick. Cautiously treading along behind Merle, the Cajun eyed the two newcomers.

The one was a cute, pixie of a young woman with pale eyes and short, bobbed hair. The other was a gaunt looking man who looked like he needed a couple of nights of good sleep.

The man eyed Merle with guarded, wary eyes, his hands on his hips, hanging close to the pistol at his side.

The woman seemed less than thrilled to see Merle, hanging back beside the door.

She looked strong, but at the same time there was a frailty to her.

"Merle," the man greeted simply.

"Officer Friendly, it's been a while." Merle returned with his smarmy grin.

Rick nodded once, firmly, before he turned his gaze on the Lieutenant, eyeing him with much more caution.

Under the man's blue gaze, the Cajun felt like something dangerous, something filled with poison that was to be avoided. He had the distinct feeling his help and friendship wasn't wanted by the man. There was a clear, keep-away-from-me-and-mine, look on his face.

Glancing over at Daryl, the soldier found the youngest Dixon giving him a reassuring nod.

"Rick, that's the Cajun." Daryl said.

Rick eyed the Lieutenant for the longest time. "I understand you and yours took my group in."

"We sure did. The nuns are taking real good care of them." He said.

Rick's eyes darted around the room quickly, looking for danger, before returning back to him. "If it's all the same to you, when we get back to your group my people will be moving out."

"We won't stop you, if that's what you want." The Lieutenant said.

Suddenly turning away from the Lieutenant, Rick addressed Andrea and Daryl, ignoring everyone but his own people.

Exchanging a quiet glance with Merle, the Cajun adjusted his rifle and headed towards the kitchen, making a sharp turn when he found Michonne tucked into a corner glaring at his approach and heading for the small gap between the fridge and the wall.

"What do you think we should do with her?" Rick asked Daryl as they stood over Andrea.

"Tell me, blondie," Merle grunted from his spot by the bedroom doorway. "Who's going to be sticking it to you now that you've left the Governor's bed behind?"

Planting his forehead in the palm of his hand, the Cajun sighed and quickly darted out of his little hidey-hole.

"Merle," he began, physically guiding the man back into the bedroom. "Did I ever tell you about this spicy Creole girl I knew from the Big Easy?"

"What the hell?" Merle snarled.

Pushing Merle backwards onto the bed, the Cajun slammed the door closed and leaned against it. "There was this girl I knew once…"

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

By the time the Lieutenant deemed it safe to release Merle, the cabin was quiet.

Daryl and Rick had moved outside to catch up, while Michonne and Andrea spoke in soft tones with each other.

"We thought maybe you killed each other in there," Andrea greeted warmly.

Michonne looked more than a little disappointed, which insulted the Cajun boy a little.

"Naw, not dead."

"Wish I were though," Merle snarled. "Goddamned Cajun doesn't know when to end a story."

"It's called good narration, _couyon_."

Stepping into the cabin, Daryl nodded a greeting to the Cajun and Merle, Rick ignoring them with a somewhat frosty silence.

"We're going to try moving Andrea in the bed of the truck," Daryl said. "We'll have to drive slow though, makes us sitting ducks for walkers or the Governor's men should we run into them. But we can't wait here for a month until she heals up."

"What do you need me to do?" The Lieutenant asked.

"We're going to try lifting her gently and carrying her out, but…we need to keep her leg as still as possible."

"I can help with that."

Daryl nodding, eyeing his brother. "Merle, you wanna pull our truck around."

Merle held up his stump hand.

"You can get it in first at least," the younger brother stated. "Don't need to change gears driving it around." Pushing around Merle, Daryl settled himself at the end of the sofa, near Andrea's feet, Rick moving to her head, Michonne taking a gentle hold of her legs.

Andrea gasped and winced, but bared her teeth against the pain.

Getting the door, the Cajun eyed the group as they moved very, very slowly.

Halfway to the door, Andrea winced and cried out.

"Sorry," Michonne muttered and adjusted her grip carefully.

As they passed by the Lieutenant at the door, the Cajun could see a fine sheen of sweat already glistening on the blonde's brow and he winced in sympathy for her. She wouldn't make the trip awake, he knew the first bump would have her passing out in pain.

Maybe it was for the best if she passed out, anyways.

Once Andrea was loaded, the Lieutenant moved to slid into the truck beside Daryl, but found Rick motioning him towards the truck that held Merle.

"You ride with Merle," he ordered.

Peering over at Andrea and Michonne in the back of the truck that Daryl was driving, the Cajun nodded. "Alright."

Rick eyed him coolly for a moment, before carefully walking away, not once turning his back fully on the Lieutenant.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

They drove in the lead, Merle eyeing the countryside as they passed, moving at a snail's pace in the direction of the convent.

For about an hour they moved at their molasses speed, before turning down the cattle trail that lead to the convent.

Behind them the truck that held the others followed.

If Andrea wasn't passed out by now the rough gravel road would do the trick easily as it was barely travelled and rutted out in places.

Relief washed over him as the church steeple came into sight over the hill that crested up to the convent and the Lieutenant smiled a little. It was funny how such a place could be considered home, that just seeing the steeple felt comforting.

As they rolled to a slow stop at the front gate, he spied that young boy from Daryl's group at the gate, unlocking it with Sister Mary Monica's set of keys. The one's with Saint Dunstan on the chain.

Pulling into the convent with a wave of thanks, the Lieutenant drove up the overgrown circular drive, stopping the vehicle in front of the infirmary, thinking it was the best place to put the injured woman.

The other truck tucked itself in behind.

Emerging from within, the Cajun stretched and flashed a wide grin at an approaching Carol and a few of her group who were hurrying over.

The short haired woman flung herself happily at Rick, who caught her with a small, hidden grin.

Watching Daryl's group rejoice, the Cajun leaned himself against his truck and waited for his own group to join him.

The Little Missy came running out of the dorms, followed by the blonde girl Beth and the wee boo made a mad dash directly for him.

Chuckling at the dog flopping after the wee one, the Cajun dropped to one knee and scooped the girl up, holding her against him.

"Well, there's a _jolie boo_," he teased her.

The Little Missy pulled away from his embrace with tears in her eyes and the Cajun's smile faded. He glanced about, Father O'Rourke was high on the wall, but there wasn't a nun in sight.

"Where is everyone, _honeychild_?" He asked.

"Nobody's around and they won't let me into Mother Mena's office," the girl sobbed, toying with the Cajun's rifle strap.

Feeling his stomach drop, the Cajun glanced around for someone who could translate child for him.

From her spot beside her sister, Beth eyed the man quietly, before turning her eyes on Carol.

She looked wan.

"Where is everybody?" The Cajun demanded.

Before anyone could answer, he handed the Little Missy off to Merle who grappled with the unexpected load, and pushed through Daryl's group, heading for the dorms.

Carol caught up with him halfway there, tugging at his sleeve.

"Lafayette," she said in a soft, strong tone. "We lost two," she said. "I'm sorry."

His pace hastened and he practically kicked the door in in his rush, leaving Carol behind.

The woman, more determined than he would have expected, caught up with him again. "She won't come out of her office, we tried talking her out, but…I don't have the heart to force my way inside."

Pulling himself to a stop at the crossroads where the dormitory's hallways crossed, the Lieutenant turned to Carol.

"What happened?" He asked, eyeing Daryl and a handful of his group as they approached Carol from behind.

"Sister Gertrude passed away," the woman began.

Remembering what Daryl had said about being infected, the Cajun processed the rest in his mind as Carol's mouth moved, but no sound was heard.

"I'm sorry," she finished.

"Who?" He asked, knowing she had said who was involved, but he wasn't thinking right.

"Sister Gertrude and Sister Mary Monica."

Taking in the group that gathered behind Carol, Daryl standing close behind the woman almost protectively, the Lieutenant's eyes met Rick's and he found there was less ice there than had been before as the man quietly took in the scene.

"Did the wee one...? Did she see anything?"

"No."

"Mother Superior?"

"The other nuns witnessed it, yes."

Nodding, the soldier took a few steps back from the group and turned slowly, heading down the hall a little slower than he had previously.

Reaching the door at the end of the hall, he raised a shaking fist and knocked. "Open this door, _cher_."

There was no sound, no hint of life beyond the oak door, so the Cajun knocked harder, louder, with a little more desperation. "Honeychild, open the door!"

Sensing eyes on him, he glanced over his shoulder and found Daryl's group standing where he left them, still eyeing him.

Turning back to the door, the Lieutenant had never wished to be left alone more in his life than at that moment. He was a people person, but he wanted the eyes to just go away.

Quietly he heard Daryl usher his group off, enlisting their help in getting Andrea off the truck bed.

Lafayette knocked again on the door, before backing up, preparing himself to kick it in.

With his foot raised, he halted in time to hear a soft click.

The door opened a fraction, revealing darkness beyond and the Cajun dropped his foot.

Glancing behind himself to ensure the hall was empty, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The only light in the room came from two votive candles that were lit near the old chair the Missy liked to curl up in, the thick curtains that were always parted for the sunshine had been drawn, casting the office into near darkness.

But the Old Missy was missing and while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he panicked a little.

"_Beb_?" He called softly into the room.

Removing his rifle, he moved to place it by the door where he always kept it, when he finally found her, standing just to the right of him in the darkness.

The light from the ajar door illuminated her pale features, turning her into a ghost in the darkness.

The Lieutenant took in her frail looking appearance, the red rimming her eyes, the flush of sorrow tinting her cheeks pink, the way she looked so young and helpless as she stood trembling at his side, her hand clenching a rosary that had been snapped in two.

She wasn't the strong, spirited woman he had left, but some wretched creature shaking all alone in her room.

Feeling like his absence had somehow done this to her, the Cajun paused, growing marmoreal under her gaze like the victim of an ancient gorgon.

A broken sob tore from her throat as the woman dropped the broken rosary and the Cajun shut the door quickly, afraid someone would see the woman in the state she was in.

In near darkness now, with only the candles giving the world nearest them a golden glow, the Cajun felt small, firm hands fumbling for him in the dark and wrapped his arms around the creature on instinct, pulling her to him tightly.

He supposed he never had given her form any real thought, but in his arms the woman was so small, like a little bird with fine bones and a madly drumming cadence rattling her chest as her heart thrummed.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling that somehow he was at fault for everything. If he had stayed home, if he had stayed where he belonged…

"What now?" The woman asked, sobbing the question into his chest like a sick mantra.

Thinking that he needed to calm her before her wee heart gave out as it raced wildly, fluttering against her ribs, rattling his stomach through his gear, the Lieutenant pulled back, fumbling for her face with his hands.

"Honey, look at me," he commanded softly.

In the near dark, her eyes sought his out. They were so wide and fearful that it broke his heart.

"Hey," he said, motioning to his eyes with two fingers, "be with me. Right here."

She focused on his eyes with a small nod.

Taking her upper arms in his hands, the Cajun pulled her against him, still maintaining eye contact he waited until the woman calmed somewhat, before speaking. "You with me?"

She nodded ever so.

"Yeah?"

Again a nod.

"What colour are my eyes?"

She sniffed. "Fayette," she mumbled, "in the darkness…"

"You know this one, _honeychild_." He whispered, teasing her without any humour to his tone.

"Grey." She sighed. "They're grey."

Giving her a forced little grin in the hopes of masking his own crumbling resolve, the Cajun spoke, "you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Chapelet** – Rosary

**Jolie** – Pretty (I've covered this with jolie catin, but just refreshing your memories on this one).


	28. Saoul

**AdmiralCherokeeRose - I feel so hard for what Rick is going through right now on the show. He's such a nice, decent guy at heart, but the situation is turning him into a nutjob. I just want to make a bundle of him sometimes. Anyways, thanks a million for the review! Glad you finally decided to let your voice be heard. ^_^**

**ldyjaydin - Me too! ^_^ Thanks a ton for the review!  
**

**skittletitz - It's amazing how much people have shown support for the Old Missy and the Lt...I almost they weren't just silly OC's...**

**GG - Hey, sorry I didn't reply to your lovely review in the last chapter, not sure if you know this, but anon reviews go into a mod bin for the author's to moderate and I sometimes forget to clear mine. Anyways, to answer your question I think the Mother Superior was living in a fantasy world hearing about things, but not bearing witness to it with her own eyes. Seeing one of her own as an 'abomination' tearing the intestines out of another of her own probably shook her faith to it's foundations.**

**Brazen Hussy - You're going to be sad at the lack of Merle in this chapter...sorry to disappoint...he's in it a wee bit. *sleazy salesman grin***

**Axelrocks -I figured the only way Merle would be distracted from being a jerk would be with tales of sexual exploits. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - I'm sad at the turn Rick has taken on the show, but it's delightfully realistic, isn't it? Thanks a million for the review! You get all the points.**

**Lilone1776 - I hope Rick's group bonds again, they're beginning to crack apart on the show like a melting Arctic ice floe.**

**AFishNamedSushi - I would imagine not being from the south the Tallahassee accents would be a shock, huh? I heard they're quite thick. Amazing how little Tallahassee gets mentioned...it's a lovely place apparently.**

**Well, kiddos, you've waited long and been so patient and kind and lovely and here's a chapter that's full of everything...I mean it's long and full of everything. *cough* Caryl *cough***

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Saoul**

****Daryl****

Among the members of the group, Daryl was the only one not eager for blood. At least not right away.

Rick stood in the midst of a crowd of Glenn, Maggie, Tyreese and his people, Beth and Herschel and Carl, even Carol, but Daryl was the only one who wasn't completely ready for war just yet.

Looking at Rick, hell looking at the others, Daryl figured they could use a few days rest before making any plans for revenge. They weren't going to be very effective if their senses weren't sharp enough.

Quietly cleaning his crossbow, he eyed the group as Rick whipped them into a froth for battle.

Beside him Merle eyed the group as well, sitting on the outskirts of the fire they started to keep them from stepping all over the toes of the Cajun's group in the buildings as they made their plans.

Sensing the conversation was getting too blue for Annie and Judith's ears, Carol took the children and moved away from the group and talks of war, heading for the dorms.

Taking in the woman with the sword who haunted the doorway of the infirmary where they had put Andrea and his brother at his side Daryl, decided he was stuck playing babysitter. Hell, even Rick or Glenn or Maggie had good reason enough to want Merle dead.

Watching Carol disappear into the dorms, the youngest Dixon brother turned his eyes back on his weapon, rubbing it down gently.

"Waste of a calm night and a tight little package," Merle grunted, laughing at Daryl.

"Shut up, Merle." He snapped. The man may have been his brother, but he was becoming a real pain in his ass.

Pushing to his feet, the older brother groaned as his knees popped. "Well, I'm going to find me a warm body and a soft bed."

Daryl moved to stand as well, his brother pushed him back down on his ass roughly. "Give me some space, little bro. I'll be fine."

"It's not you I'm worried about." Daryl replied.

Merle chuckled. "Yeah, you do gather assholes around you, don't you? Don't worry, baby brother, I'm going to find me a nun to keep me safe."

Watching his brother move towards the wall where Sister Joan was on patrol, Daryl hesitated, before deciding to let Merle go. He couldn't watch his ass all the time and he hated feeling like a mother hen.

Noticing Glenn and Maggie both giving him dark looks, Daryl bowed his head back to his crossbow.

If they thought he was ever going to choose the group over family they could kiss his ass, Merle had always had his back when he was around and even when he wasn't, there were phone calls from the clink and letters home.

Deciding to take a walk to escape the nasty looks the others were giving him, Daryl stood up, slipping his crossbow onto his back and tucking his rag into his back pocket quietly.

Wandering around the church, Daryl decided to patrol the back garden and cemetery before checking on Merle, even if just from a distance.

Behind the old stone building, the cemetery was dark, there were no artificial lights anymore and even when there had been, he doubted there were any overlooking the simple wooden markers of Sisters past.

Quietly picking his way around the crosses, Daryl made his way towards the back gate that lay just around the corner of the church against the eastern wall.

"Daryl!" Rick called after him, hurrying to catch up.

Pausing by the freshly dug grave of one of the nuns, he waited for their leader to reach him.

"You with us or not?" Rick demanded, his patience as thin as it had been as of late. "We could really use your input."

Daryl studied Rick quietly for a moment. "You want my advice, man? Catch up on some shut eye."

Eyeing him with hard blue eyes, Rick placed his hands on his hips in what Daryl had labelled his 'cop with an attitude' pose. "We're on the run for our lives and you're worried about sleep?" Rick snapped. "You have to get your act together, Daryl. I need you with us."

"Rick you haven't slept since long before we took the prison," Daryl stated calmly. "It's not good for you."

Touching a hand to his face, Rick rubbed his stubbled jaw. "I will sleep when we finish this."

"You're no good to us without your wits," Daryl argued. "The Governor's men will still be there in a few days, we're safe here for a while. Rest up, then we'll take measures."

"We need to act now." Rick stated.

"It's already been a few days, man. The Governor will have already regrouped, there's no point in rushing this. You rest up and we'll be stronger going into this."

"Daryl, you're either with us or you're not!"

"What are you saying, Rick?" Daryl snapped.

"You know exactly what I'm saying." Rick replied. "Bringing Merle around our people after what he did to Glenn and Maggie?"

Feeling that familiar heat of rage rise in his chest, Daryl stepped in close to Rick. "After what he did to Glenn and Maggie? Let's talk about what you did to Merle? Huh? I think it's due time we had that discussion, Rick!"

"You're brother's an out-of-control asshole, Daryl, the sooner you realize this the better you'll be in life!"

"Fuck you, man!" Daryl snarled. "Just because you grew up in suburbia with mommy and daddy paying your way into the cop shop, doesn't mean you know jack shit about Merle! You think he's just some cracked out two-bit hood? Fuck you! Merle's been through a lot and he's my brother and I won't have people forcing me to choose between him and anyone else!"

Sighing heavily, Rick rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Look, we're leaving tomorrow for the prison, then we're going on to Woodbury, you think about whether you're with us or not."

"Get some sleep tonight, Rick." Daryl suggested.

The ex-cop didn't say anything, he just walked off into the darkness, leaving Daryl standing beside a fresh grave.

"First month of basic they had us attend this seminar on post-traumatic stress," a Cajun drawl purred from the deepest, blackest part of the shadows by the church.

Daryl glanced about for the source, but couldn't see a damned thing in the dark of the night.

"Fay? What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Taking communion," he muttered. "Want some?"

There was a clink of glass and a bottle neck being shoved into Daryl's hand.

Gripping the bottle out of pure reflex action, Daryl scoffed. "Are you drunk?"

"Naw, red wine is like grape juice to me, pull up some turf."

Adjusting to the darkness, Daryl spied a spot beside the Cajun and flopped down, taking a swig from the bottle.

"Sorry about listening to that fight of yours," the Lieutenant said, munching on a wafer. "I actually thought you saw me sitting here."

"It's alright."

"So I was saying, your man there looks like he's hard under," the Cajun said softly, holding out a little wooden box full of what looked like graham crackers.

Daryl shook his head at them.

"He just needs some rest." Daryl defended Rick. "Rick's a good man, just having a rough go right now."

"Stress can change even the mildest heart."

Unable to properly gauge the man's face in the dark, Daryl took another swig of the wine. "Speaking of…what really brings you out here?"

"Sister Gertrude took in stray cats that she found in the town nearby, people started bringing them here for her to take care of. Before all this of course, but she never stopped caring for them even after the world went down. She said 'cats were God's creatures, they took care of themselves, but every now and then sought out comfort and companionship'.

Sister Mary Monica used tell these horrible knock-knock jokes. I don't know, she was kind of a goofy thing, but she smiled a lot and I liked the way her nose would wrinkle when she laughed. Never felt like a heathen talking to her, like because I'm not Catholic, it didn't matter much with her.

They were real innocents, you know?

I feel like maybe I could have done something if I were here. Sister Gertrude, well that was just her time, but Sister Mary Monica…she had a full life yet before her."

"You don't know that you being here would have made any difference," Daryl stated, knowing exactly what the man was stewing over.

The Cajun took a swig of wine. "No, but I feel like I could have done something if I were here."

"Yeah, well I feel like I could flap my ears and fly my ass into the night, doesn't mean I'm going to get results." Daryl snapped.

They sat for a few minutes in silence, drinking the wine quietly.

After about fifteen minutes, Daryl sniffed. "So, what, we're just going to sit here all night getting drunk in a graveyard, then? Because I gotta get in and get some rest." He asked.

"_Moi itou je veux partir."_

Pushing to his feet, Daryl nodded, handing the empty bottle back to the Cajun. "Yeah, I should go check on my dumb assed brother too."

"You are a saint for putting up with that man, you know that, _cabri_?"

"Yeah, maybe the nuns will make me one, huh?" Daryl shot back.

Struggling to his feet, the Cajun tried to grab the couple of empty bottles he had gone through, but dropped them one at a time.

"_Foutre_," the Cajun growled, scrambling to gather the bottles.

"I thought you said you weren't drunk."

"_Je peux pas partir mon char_." The Cajun replied with a huff of laughter.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, dumb ass."

"And I'm not drunk," the Cajun insisted as he staggered a little around the corner of the church. "Just uncoordinated in the dark."

"Whatever, lightweight," Daryl replied.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

He got the Cajun into the dorms where the soldier mumbled he should stay, slumping against the door frame just outside a particular room like a hobo sleeping outside a soup kitchen.

Daryl was sure the room must have been either the Mother Superior's or the little girl's or maybe it was both these days.

Eyeing the sleeping soldier, Daryl wondered if maybe he should have just taken him back to the garden shed. After all the nuns made it very clear men were to keep the hell out of the dorms during the day, never mind at night when the sisters were sleeping.

Deciding to do a safety sweep because he was there, Daryl took a quick tour down the halls, peeking into rooms that were left open, ensuring everyone was safely tucked into their beds and nothing was lurking that shouldn't be.

Finding nothing seriously wrong, he continued on towards the kitchen where the flickering of candlelight could be seen under the door.

Pushing open the door he found Carol inside, sitting at the kitchen table with Judith in her arms, feeding her quietly.

She looked up at the creaking of the door and offered him one of her faint smiles.

Realizing she was the one person he actually wanted to see, Daryl stepped further into the kitchen and closed the door behind him quietly.

"She's such a quiet thing," Carol remarked softly.

"How's she doing on formula?" He asked.

"Good, Glenn brought back enough for another week or so," she replied. "Can't wait until she's on solids, we can mash up whatever we eat for her."

Daryl eyed the squirming baby with calm eyes as he moved to stand behind her. "Maybe we can make some canned baby food for her."

"Sure we will, Little Asskicker's need their vitamins."

Flashing him one of her rare, beaming smiles, Carol nodded.

Hopping onto the counter, Daryl watched Carol and Judith for a long, content moment.

"I don't want you going back to the prison tomorrow," he said simply.

When Carol turned big blue eyes on him, he looked away. "It's not safe yet to return." He explained. "I'm going ask the Mother Superior if you can stay here for a while longer."

"What about the others?" She asked.

"Can't stop them, won't stop them. Rick has them all stirred up for trouble and I don't think me talking would change their minds."

"I wish Rick would reconsider his plans for tomorrow." Carol admitted.

Daryl nodded.

Putting down the bottle, Carol tossed a dish towel over her shoulder and standing up, placed Judith against it, softly patting her back. She approached Daryl at the counter.

"Maybe you should talk to him." She suggested.

"I tried. It didn't do any good. He's hell bent on revenge at this point, won't listen to reason."

"He's going to get everyone killed rushing into it like this," Carol pointed out.

Daryl dipped his head in agreement.

"Maybe you could talk to the others?" She suggested.

Recalling the mistrustful looks Glenn and Maggie had been giving him as of late, Daryl winced. "I don't think anyone would listen to me."

"Daryl, your opinion is perhaps one of the most valued in the group. If you say it's not wise to go in fighting tomorrow, the others will listen to you." She said.

"They'd probably listen to you more than me right now." He stated.

Her eyes flickered over his form.

"I think they're upset about Merle being here." He added.

She nodded. "I don't think that'd influence their opinion of you though. They might be upset with you, but they still trust you."

Reaching out he ran a finger down Judith's soft cheek. "Maybe."

"Definitely. I know I do." She replied.

They were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open and looked over to find Annie standing there rubbing her eyes.

"Hey, honey," Carol chirped. "What's wrong?"

"I need a glass of water," she muttered.

Hopping off the counter, Daryl moved to sit at the table as Carol handed Judith over to him and moved to get the little girl a glass of water from the plastic container that the nuns kept their well water in.

Moving to take a seat at Daryl's side, Annie eyed him quietly, still half asleep.

"You and Carol should have more babies so I can play with all of them," the little girl mumbled, reaching over to touch Judith's little foot.

Daryl felt his face grow hot and he glanced over to see if Carol heard Annie.

The woman's eyes darted away from his upon contact as she poured the water. "More babies?" She asked.

"Yeah, then I could play with them." Annie insisted.

"Oh, honey you think Judith is ours?" Carol asked, handing her the glass of water.

Annie downed half of it, smacking her lips when she was done. "Um-hm."

"She's not."

"Oh, why not?"

Daryl tucked his chin to his chest, hoping to avoid the scene as much as possible.

"Because she's not, honey. We just look after her." Sitting down with them at the table, Carol tucked Annie's dark hair behind her ear. "You know that tall man Daryl brought back with him today?"

"Mr. Rick?"

"Judith is his little girl."

"Oh. How come you and Daryl don't have a little girl, then?"

Carol laughed softly. "Uh…well…Daryl and I aren't…um…"

"Stop asking nosy questions, twerp." Daryl snapped playfully. "Drink your water."

The little girl downed the rest of her water and eyed him for a moment, before grinning. "Do you know how babies are made, Mr. Daryl?"

"I do, do you?" He replied.

She giggled. "Kissing."

Carol beamed and pushed to her feet. "Okay, back to bed, missy."

Ushering Annie out of the room left Daryl behind with Judith, flushed a deep red. He idly played with the baby's hand as she gripped his finger tight.

After a few minutes Carol returned, grinning widely, arms out for Judith.

Daryl handed her off quickly, eyes averted. "Well, I should get some rest."

"What's wrong?" Carol teased. "Don't want to make a baby with me tonight?"

Without thinking it through, his eyes snapped up to meet her laughing face as she rolled up onto the balls of her feet, Judith kneeding at her collar with a weak little hand.

Daryl suddenly felt very uncomfortable and as much as he tried not to show it, he squirmed in his spot a little.

Laughing softly, Carol leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, mindful of Judith between them.

Reaching up Daryl idly rubbed at the spot where her lips touched him and eyed her out of the corner of his eye.

"Hm, I don't think that's how it's done." She added slyly.

"You didn't do it right," he mumbled.

Quick as a rattlesnake, she hopped up onto her tiptoes and caught his mouth with hers.

Daryl froze immediately, every muscle in his body tensing as she literally stole his breath.

As soon as she pulled away, he stepped back nervously and made a beeline for the door. Reaching it, common sense came back to him and he stopped dead in his tracks, realizing she might take his fast paced escape the wrong way.

Turning around cautiously, he found her looking a little hurt where he left her and balled his hands into fists as his side.

Internally he struggled with himself. He didn't want her to think he found her kiss repulsive, but he also didn't want her to think she could just go around kissing him.

Well, maybe she could if she wanted. He wasn't one to stop her from doing what made her happy.

"Sorry," she whispered softly.

Wincing, he realized he probably hurt her more than necessary at his quick escape and unfurled his hands, allowing them to hang loose at his side.

"Don't be." He offered, before opening the door and slipping out into the night.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Saoul** – Drunk

**Moi itou je veux partir.** – I want to leave too.

**Foutre** – The Cajun French equivalent of 'fuck'.

**Je peux pas partir mon char.** – I can't start my car (the Lt was obviously kidding).


	29. Cocodinde

**sammipoop - You excited about something? (I keed!)**

**Brazen Hussy - I won't hear a peep out of you this go around...no Merle in sight. At all. *le sigh***

**crystal2817 - The only way I'll take my Daryl Dixon, awkward and sweet.**

**skittletitz - Haha! The thought of Annie shipping Caryl made me giggle...also, you're too kind with your comments as to my writing style. I'm highly flattered...but in all honesty I was more excited to hear that you enjoyed the kiss. ^_^**

**AFishNamedSushi - I honestly think if Carol ever grabbed Daryl and kissed him like that his head would explode. He'd be so confused and unsure he would literally just pop like a zit.**

**Surplus Imagination - Haha, poor Merle, God bless him he's trying to get him some nun...he's kind of a horndog.**

**carylfan - Annie should just ask all the hard hitting questions...get it over with. She seems to be on the right track...make Daryl uncomfortable, make Carol think. ^_^**

**Lokislady - Aw, thanks for the review. You are too kind! I'm glad you enjoyed the Caryl scene...I was actually pretty nervous writing it.**

**GG - You wanted the Mother Superior stumbling over a Cajun, you got it! Enjoy this chapter and thanks for the review!**

**HGRHfan35 - I ship the Rick and Daryl bromance so hard. They are just too cute together as buds. And yeah, Andrew Lincoln is pretty adorable himself...I actually (originally) started watching the show just for him...and then Norman showed up and said 'son of a bitch' and I was smitten. I can love both men, right? No law says I can't. Hey, thanks for this review and the others. They are much appreciated.**

**Lilone1776 - I just want Daryl and Rick and the Lt to be together on a bed and I just want us to roll around...bromance threeway complete with pillow fight! ...it's late and I apologize.**

**Axelrocks - I really don't want the Lt to go the way Rick is going...I would take it so hard. Also, Daryl is too cute with kids. Even the scenes he has with Carl makes me go 'aw'. Big softie that he is...**

**We really need to think of a better word for taco. I mean smutty people just ruined the word for me...**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cocodinde**

****Old Missy****

Watching from the window in her cell as the other nuns moved across the lawns in the early hours of the morning, heading for their morning mass, the Mother Superior held her sweater closed as though it were her last vestige of protection against the evils that lurked outside the walls of her convent.

Turning dull blue-green eyes on the simple cross that hung over the cot where Annie slept restlessly, the woman contemplated joining the other nuns in prayer, but she didn't have the strength to move.

She had confided to Lafayette the night before that God had abandoned them, that if he ever existed, he had turned his back on the pious women for some unknown reason. Maybe it was a punishment of sorts.

Maybe it had been her fault, that she wasn't righteous enough.

She had slept fitfully last night, the night before she hadn't slept at all. Images and smells of the assault were imprinted on her and they wafted across her senses every time she closed her eyes.

Realizing she wanted some form of conversation to remove the thoughts from her mind for the time being, she turned from the window and headed to the door, pulling it open, dumping a form onto the hard stone floor of her cell.

The soldier stretched and retracted like a giant earthworm, groaning and hugging his knees to his chest in an effort to make his long form smaller against the cold of the floor, failing due to a bottle of half-drunk wine that he hugged tightly that prevented him from curling up completely.

Moving her bare feet back from the man, she eyed him for a minute, before turning her eyes on the cross again.

Was this what had become of her? Surrounded by people she didn't know, tripping over Cajun men who haunted the doorway into her room, trying to get a child to calm herself from the nightmares that tormented her during the dark of night.

She may have been the victim of lingering fear and displacement, but she wouldn't tolerate someone breaking her rules.

Kneeling, she rolled Lafayette over onto his back and reached for the wine, their communion wine she noted with a dry cock of her brow. The Cajun gripped it tightly and muttered something in his silly French to her.

Frowning, she shook his shoulder firmly.

"Lafayette?" She whispered, afraid of waking the child on the cot.

The Cajun rolled over, holding the bottle in a death grip.

Eyeing the boyishly tousled dark hair that fell across the man's brow and the way he looked so troubled in his sleep, the Mother Superior backed off clutching her sweater shut and contemplating the situation. She eyed the dark freckle that hung just under his bottom lip and the few and far between others that peppered his face and neck. They weren't the myriad of red freckles that a red head would possess, but the dark sparsely scattered freckles that only those with fair skin seemed to gather.

She reached for his shoulder, pulling him onto his back again. "Lieutenant?" She whispered a little louder, eyeing Annie on the cot.

The girl had trouble sleeping most nights, which made the woman reluctant to wake her when she actually found sleep.

Annie continued sleeping, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

With her hand on his vest, the Mother Superior shook the Cajun a little rougher. "Lafayette. This is getting ridiculous now. Up!"

The man caught her hand and nuzzled his stubbled cheek against it with a content smile. "_Jolie catin_," he mumbled happily, rolling over again with her hand still in his grip.

Deciding she had enough of his nonsense, the nun used her free hand to smack the Lieutenant hard on the side of the head.

He shot up, bottle rolling from his lap onto the stone floor, thankfully keeping intact as it rolled across her cell floor towards the simple chifferobe she had tucked her habit inside.

"Get up," she commanded.

Lafayette held his head just between his eyebrows with both hands, grunting.

Getting to her feet, the Mother Superior looked down at the mess of a Cajun with lively eyes. "You'd better have a good reason for breaking my rules on men inside my dorms," the woman stated coldly.

He gave her a look out of the corner of his bloodshot eye. "Did you have to hit me, _cher_?"

"You're lucky that's all I do to you, you ridiculous man," she whispered harshly.

Watching the man struggle to get to his feet, she sighed heavily and crossed her arms.

"Is this what's become of us? Drunks and sinners?" She demanded, ushering him out into the hall, snatching the wine on her way out. "Lord help the woman who has to put up with you…"

Stumbling gracelessly into the hall, the Lieutenant gave her a sheepish look. "I underestimated the strength of your fortified wine, _honeychild_." He pointed out, flashing her a crooked grin.

"None of that, come on, you're going to get your hinder into that kitchen and sober up before the others see you." She ordered, pushing him in the direction of the kitchens, hand firmly on his arm just above the elbow. "Can't be babysitting Annie and you," she went on. "Lord knows the world has gone to seed…"

Staggering into the kitchen, the Cajun startled Carol and Beth who were inside preparing the morning meal, the two women jumped a little as the door cracked against the wall behind it.

"Sorry," the Lieutenant apologized, giving the Mother Superior a startled look as she shoved him down onto a chair and set the bottle of wine on the counter.

"In all my life," she began pouring him a hefty helping of well water into a glass, "I've never met a man so silly as you." Slamming the glass down, she eyed him. "Drink this. All of it."

He obediently downed the water.

"I mean the nerve of you," she went on, "sleeping outside my door like some flea-riddled hound from the backwoods. Look at you, all scruffy and rough. Wouldn't take you in if you were an alley cat."

He touched a hand to his hair and attempted to smooth it, still grinning at her with his charming smile. "I can just tamp it down a wee bit."

"I suppose you think that's funny?"

He beamed wider, flashing her handsome, even teeth. "I was hoping it'd get a smile at least."

"You're incorrigible," she stated.

"If that means quick witted and winsome, then I'd be inclined to agree." He replied, trying to straighten his uniform.

Huffing, the Mother Superior wondered what to do with the man. He really was a stray cat.

"I see you have your fire back," he pointed out. "Good thing to have, yeah?"

"I swear I don't know what to do with you," she argued.

Pushing to his feet shakily, the Cajun nodded. "Sounds about right on par with what my _Mamere_ used to say." He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "I'm going to head for a nap before the sun slams up, my head feels like it's in a vice. Can I use the floor in front of your door again or do I have permission to crawl in with the wee boo?"

Knowing how the little one loved sharing a bed with the towering soldier, the Mother Superior hesitated, knowing she'd be allowing the man into her bed. Usually Annie crawled into bed with the Lieutenant in his garden shed on nights when she had her worst nightmares. It wouldn't matter much if he slept in her bed without her, would it?

"I'm sure she'd like that." She replied, watching the man head for the door. "Just stay out of my chifferobe."

"What would I find?" He called out over his shoulder. "Something red and lacy?"

Gasping at his audacity, the nun touched hand to her mouth, casting a fearful look at the two other women present.

"I burned that thing!" She shouted after him. Turning apologetic eyes on the two other women, she briefly wondered where the man got his sudden cheek from.

Imagine! Her missing early morning mass and having some Cajun teasing her about the kinds of underwear only fancy ladies would be caught working in! What was the world coming to?

"Sorry about that, that man can be a handful."

Carol beamed. "He's a good man to have around though, isn't he?"

"Can't deny that," the Mother Superior, heading towards the two women. "Bad for the heart though."

"I'm familiar with the type," the woman replied.

Smiling at the woman, the Mother Superior moved to stand at her side, helping her. "We are lucky, aren't we? Men like that need us more than we need them at times, don't they? It's nice to be needed."

Carol made a small sound in the back of her throat, but otherwise said nothing.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Immersing herself in work that morning, she headed out to the water pump with the plastic container for more water for the kitchen, when she came across that tall man from Daryl's group.

The leader, as far as she knew, though they hadn't met formally, she had seen him out her window talking with his people, walking their wall like he didn't trust anyone other than himself to do it.

The man stood by the pump, gazing out into the middle distance, hands on his hips.

Quietly setting down the jug, she gave the water pump a few good shoves, eyes on her task.

"You're in charge here," he stated moving to stand beside her, quietly taking over the task of pumping for her.

Standing back the Mother Superior eyed him. He had kind eyes, but looked like a good wind would blow him over.

"I don't know about that. I used to be, yes."

Nodding, the man kept at his task.

"I think lately we're better off letting the Lieutenant call the shots, he's more trained for these kinds of situations." She went on.

"You trust him?" He returned straightening once the jug was full.

"I've never had a moment where I didn't trust him," she said. "He showed up, straddling our wall like some kind of child all smiles and warmth, never thought he could be anything but a man who truly cares about others."

"I'm sorry about your people," he said.

"As am I. But the sisters are strong, we'll prevail."

Nodding, the man sighed.

Feeling for the way he looked absolutely crushed by the world, wanting to comfort him for the way his face seemed to hold no hope, the Mother Superior reached out and calmly touched his hand, sandwiching it between hers.

"I had given up hope the other day," she said. "Before a Cajun man told me that we as a group are only as strong as our weakest link, that in an effort for the good people of this new world to survive and outlive the wicked, we must be prepared to carry on our humanity. Uphold what is good and righteous about man, because we are all we have. Your group and ours are good people, together we are strong, apart we are weak. I'm not saying you must join us or us you, but I need you to understand that we are friends and allies. That your group means as much to us as our own people. Lafayette is prepared to fight your battle because he believes in proving to you that he wants to be companions while we rebuild the world and I'm prepared to shelter and care for your people for as long as you need. We're not different, we're just from different clans."

The man eyed her for a moment, before he seemed to lose all tension in his body. He gripped her hand with his free one, staring her in the eyes.

"Rick Grimes," he introduced.

"Grace Harper, used to be anyways," she returned. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Grimes. And pardon me for saying this, but you could use a shave and a good night's sleep."

Rick was quiet for a moment, staring at her intensely, before nodding. "You sound like my wife." His voice broke a little when he said this, but he cleared his throat strongly.

Running her hand over his bicep warmly, she beamed. "Come on, honey. You look like a good wind'll knock you over." She urged, picking up the heavy jug despite the man trying to take it for her. "I broke one rule regarding men inside the dorms this morning, I don't think I'll be punished for breaking it again. Come on, you look like you need a warm bed and a good, long rest."

"I don't—"

"Come along, Mr. Grimes, you need your sleep to keep your strength up. You're no good to anyone in this state."

He lingered by the pumps.

Sighing, she turned back to him. "No one argues with me, Mr. Grimes, it does no good. I've been told I'm stubborn as a mule. Come along now." Returning, she used her free hand to gently nudge and push the man in the direction of the back door that led into the dormitory kitchen. "We'll get you settled and safe in a free dorm, when you wake you can bathe and shave. I will not tolerate scruffy men hanging about my convent grounds scaring the Sisters."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Cocodinde** – Freckle


	30. Cagou

**skittletitz - Whenever I think of drowning in warm fuzzies, I think of being buried up to my neck in Tribbles. That would be the life. (random comment!) XD Anyways, thanks for the reviews. All of them you've ever given me!**

**Lilone1776 - Honestly, I'm with Daryl, Rick just needs a good nights sleep. He's going nutty due to lack of rest...I'm sure. And stress...but sleep is a good start. Yeah, I must find a reason why the MS lets the Dixon's get away with scruff...maybe because (like me) Daryl's scruff isn't actually off-putting and Merle's is hardly there at all (he does tend to keep pretty clean cut).**

**Brazen Hussy - I need a Merle siren that I can flash every time he's in a chapter...hope you didn't see any babies crawling on the ceiling during your withdrawal period...**

**HistoryBuff101 - But if you're a history buff then you know everything worth knowing already, therefore no studying required (who needs physics when you can recite the timeline of the Battle of the Bulge, amirite?). ^_^ I would make the worst parent, methinks. Thanks ever so for taking the time out of your obviously busy schedule to not only read but review this work, I greatly appreciate it.**

**GG - I'm actually shocked I didn't have any rulers whatsoever in this story yet...I must find a way to write one in...**

**Surplus Imagination - I think Rick was too exhausted to argue with the stubborn Old Missy...he was probably just shocked she was more concerned with him getting some sleep and then shaving that anything. XD**

**Axelrocks - I know, right? Like the world ended, but I'm sure you can find loads of plastic razors and shaving cream just lying about...geez, shave it off, Rick. It'll take about three minutes out of your day.**

**AFishNamedSushi - To answer your question (the most important one). No, she didn't burn the lingerie. This will come into play later. Also, I imagine the Lt. will be simply mortified when he realizes how much of a rogue he was while still a wee bit drunk.**

**MollyMayhem84 -I have mentioned this to you privately, but I want everyone to know how much I really took your last review to heart. It means so much to me to hear things like that, you have no idea. I write things to entertain people, but to know just how much they entertain is the highlight of my day. May good things come your way, MM84.  
**

**P****roper Cajun hangover in three...two...one...**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty: Cagou**

****Daryl****

"Hey, Daryl?"

Looking up from where he was making more bolts for his crossbow, the youngest Dixon eyed Carl as the boy approached.

"What's up, little man?" He asked.

"I can't find my dad anywhere, have you seen him?"

"We're heading out in a bit, he's probably just off somewhere getting himself together."

The boy nodded. "If you see him, let me know, okay?"

"Sure thing."

"Hey, little man," Merle stopped Carl's retreat.

The boy eyed him warily. "What?"

"Where'd you get that capgun?" The oldest Dixon pointed at the 9mm at Carl's side.

The boy eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Just curious is all."

Touching his gun, Carl turned and walked off without anything further said to Merle.

Daryl eyed the retreating figure of the boy, before pushing to his feet. "Maybe I should look around for Rick, get the party in full swing."

He turned to his brother and the Cajun, the latter who cradled his forehead in the palm of his hand, his entire body bowed like a limp piece of celery. Sharing a small, barely there smile with his brother, Daryl headed off towards the church, looking for Rick piece by piece around the convent.

Poking his head nervously inside the kitchen of the dorms through the backdoor, Daryl spied Maggie and Beth standing around the table where a couple of nuns were sitting mending clothes, he cleared his throat.

"Sorry to invade," he began. "Have you seen Rick? Carl was looking for him."

"Mother Mena said the man named Rick was taking a rest in one of the spare rooms, I can get her if you want." One of the nuns said. Daryl wasn't sure if she was Sister Mary Claire or Sister Mary Elizabeth, the two nuns were both youngish and he still wasn't sure which one was which yet.

"No, that's alright. I'll let Carl know." He paused. "Do you know if Rick is actually sleeping?"

Sister Mary Agnes (one of the ones he could tell apart) beamed. "I peeked in on him an hour ago, he was shifting about, but seemed pretty deep in sleep. Poor thing."

Daryl nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

"Uh, Mr. Dixon, if you see the Lieutenant tell him that the Mother Superior is looking for him. She's pretty upset that someone got into our supply of communion wafers."

Bowing his head, Daryl backed out the door and headed back around for the little campfire the others had set up at the north-western corner of the convent lawns where he had left his brother and the Cajun.

He took a quick detour towards the front gate where Carl had set up watch with that woman from Tyreese's group and told the boy that his dad was fine. He also told Carl to spread the word that war was postponed until Rick got his beauty rest.

The boy nodded and took off, heading for the rectory where Glenn and the other men had set up camp inside the priest's home.

Dropping onto an upside down pail, Daryl went back to making his bolts.

"Hey, dumb ass," he said to the Cajun after a bit. "Mother Superior found out about you eating up her graham crackers."

"Body of Christ," he corrected weakly, still hiding his eyes from the world around them, "and he was delicious."

"No regrets, huh?" Merle asked.

"Smart assed reply," the Cajun grunted, too hung-over to even find the proper words to respond with.

"Well," Daryl set his work down. "Not going to get anything done sitting around waiting for war." He pushed to his feet, strapping his crossbow onto his back. "Hunt us some grub, brother?"

Merle nodded, pushing to his feet with a grin. "Always up for shedding blood." He clapped the soldier hard on the shoulder. "You in, Cajun?"

"Words." The Lieutenant muttered.

"Guess it's just you and me, baby bro." Merle stated with a wide grin.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

They had waited until they bagged a couple of fat rabbits and a grouse of some kind, before Merle began yapping.

"I think that Sister Joan has it hard for me," he stated.

Daryl scoffed. "She doesn't look that dumb by half."

"Fuck you, I'm very winning." Merle argued.

"Yeah, Merle, you survived being eaten by mindless freaks, you're winning the human race." Daryl replied.

"Whatever, man. At least I've have more women than I have eyes."

"That right? How's the clap working out for you?" Daryl shot back.

"Shut up," Merle snarled. "It was that goddamned red head from Macon…I know it was. She looked like trouble from the get-go."

"Ever hear of a rubber, big bro?"

"Can't find ones big enough," Merle replied. "Besides it throws off my swing."

"I'm amazed you didn't have spawn running around a third of the state."

"That I knew of." Merle stated. "Speaking of sticking it to nasty little things. What's that tight little minx of yours like? My gut tells me she's a wildcat."

"Shut up, Merle." Daryl growled.

"She had a kid though, huh? That's gotta move some walls back about a foot on each side, right?"

"Shut up!"

"How big are those things when they come out anyways? About the size of a football, right? Bigger? How big was the kid's head?"

"I swear, Merle, I'll shove this crossbow up your ass and pull the trigger." Daryl snapped.

Grinning at his little brother, Merle backed down. "Alright, sorry, man."

"You shouldn't talk about Sophia like that," Daryl went on. "Or her mom."

Merle caught up with his brother, eyeing him with that look only Merle could eye him with. For a second Daryl thought his brother was going to say something, mock him or insult him, but his brother quietly looked away, gazing at a walker who was slowly stumbling towards them.

Both men watched it struggle to make its way through the dense underbrush of the woods, before Daryl calmly fired a bolt into its head.

"It's gotta be rough, losing your kid to these assholes." Merle stated.

Bracing his boot on the side of the walker's head, Daryl yanked his bolt out. "Gotta be rough losing your kid at all."

"Fucking world's worse now more than ever before, kids shouldn't have to put up with this shit." Merle went on.

"Hell, _we_ shouldn't have to put up with this shit," Daryl said giving the walker one last shove with his boot, turning it onto its face.

"Amen, brother. Amen."

They walked on.

"What do you make of this idea of Rick's?" Merle asked. "Taking out the Governor, doesn't seem like something a cop would do."

"It's Woodbury or us."

"You know not everyone at Woodbury are assholes. Most of them are just trying to scratch and survive like everyone else." His older brother said. "A lot of them _are_ assholes though, but so's half your group."

Daryl pushed aside a briar bush, stepping out of the thick of the woods into a lighter meadow. "Merle, you might want to stop calling other kettles black."

His brother chuckled. "Oh, I know I'm an asshole, that's what sets me apart from the rest. Do I care? Fuck no. But that bratty little fucker and his farmer's daughter better stop giving me nasty looks before I set their heads spinning."

"Do you have any idea what kind of hell you put them through, Merle? It wasn't exactly a tour of Disneyland for them."

"They're lucky that's all I did to them. Governor had me doing worse to others. If you ask me, I wouldn't even bother going after the man, he's crazier than a shithouse rat." Merle went on.

"That's why he needs putting down," Daryl pointed out.

They pushed through the edge of the trees and found the thick stone wall of the convent spread before them, the back gate closer than the front, so they headed towards it, walking alongside the wall.

"Besides," Daryl added before they reached the gate, "humanity has gone back to tribal days and it's survival of the fittest rules."

"Alright, baby brother," Merle cooed playfully. "We'll kick ass Dixon style, besides when you and Carol have little ones, they're going to need all the space they can to run around the countryside raising hell. Especially if they've got big heads."

"Shut up, Merle."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

After cleaning their kills, they handed them off to the women in the kitchen and headed back for the campfire, where the Cajun still slumped in on himself, had been surrounded by the rest of the woman doing laundry in a huge blackened pot they were heating over the fire.

Daryl could hear the gossiping from halfway across the lawns and wondered if the Cajun was even awake to hear some of the things the women were chatting about.

Beside him Merle's face lit up when he spied Michonne glaring at him from a spot on the wall near the women and Daryl touched a hand to his chest before he could move towards the woman.

"Start a fight and I knock your ass out, brother." He warned.

Chuckling, Merle nodded and split off, heading for the front gate where Father O'Rourke was on watch.

Kneeling on the ground beside the Cajun, Daryl eyed him.

The man still had his hand covering his eyes, his elbow resting heavily on his knee and someone had draped a t-shirt over his head, but under the shirt his mouth was hanging open slightly, the only sure sign Daryl had that signified that the man was asleep.

Nodding to the women who all stopped their talking to greet him, Daryl got up again.

"He's been like that for about two hours," Sasha said, folding what looked like a pillowcase.

"We didn't have the heart to wake him up to move him. So we put that shirt over him before the sun fried the back of his neck," Sister - Mary Elizabeth he was guessing - pointed out.

Smiling a little, Daryl nodded and moved off.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

He made a few rounds, eyeing the grounds for threats that weren't there, but could exist all the same. Knowing how easily it was to get lazy after a day of inactivity, Daryl moved across the lawns, heading for the back of the church where nothing seemed to happen.

Overhead the sky looked like rain was in the forecast for the night, by the dark shade of the clouds, Daryl would have wagered a thunderstorm as well. He wondered if everyone had a hole to hide in come the night, because the convent was full to overflowing.

Rounding the corner of the church, he was shocked to find Rick just standing among the wooden crosses of the cemetery, staring off into the distance at an empty spot of lawn just behind the storage shed.

He looked a little more rested, clean shaven and bathed, but still somehow looked rough. The red around his eyes didn't put the youngest Dixon at ease.

Quietly stepping up beside their leader, Daryl eyed him quietly.

Rick nodded to an unasked question.

Trying to find the source of Rick's attention, Daryl squinted at the distance.

It was almost a full two minutes before Rick acknowledged him, turning to the shorter man slowly.

"Okay," Rick said suddenly. "You want us to take a breather, we'll take a few days."

Bowing his head in agreement, Daryl agreed.

"And you're right," the taller man went on. "Prison's not safe right now, but we can't just stay here and eat up all the nuns' food. We'll head back tomorrow morning for our supplies. Maybe help them out the best we can while we're here."

"Okay," Daryl said. "I'm with you, man."

Reaching out, Rick set his hand on Daryl's shoulder and squeezed. "I know."

"Come on, let's get the others gathered." Rick ordered with a jerk of his head in the direction of the campfire.

Eyeing the spot Rick had been staring at quietly, Daryl struggled to see what their leader had seen, before turning and following behind him.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

That night as he ate his meal of canned veggies and rabbit, he eyed the Cajun as the soldier mended his own gear.

"Why don't you just find a new damned jacket?" Merle snarled from his spot in the corner of the garden shed where he had settled among a tarp and some old ratty blankets like a crow in a nest. He had been forcibly removed from the infirmary by Michonne after it was decided Andrea was to stay in there, naturally where Andrea went so went Michonne.

"Why, Merle, if I wore anything but this uniform I'd be just another gangly Cajun in a jacket." The Lieutenant replied smoothly. "Don't you know women love a man in uniform?"

"I think the way things are, women'll settle for a man who doesn't want to chew on them these days." Merle shot back.

"Guess that means your odds have skyrocketed, _couyon_." The Cajun shot back.

Daryl scoffed as Merle threw an old oil filter for the lawnmower at the soldier.

"Except for Sister Joan," Daryl added.

"Yes, I've noticed the interest your brother has taken with Sister Joan," the Lieutenant began almost sternly.

For a second Daryl was almost certain the Cajun had left his body and the Mother Superior took up residence in it. It was eerie.

"If I wasn't so sure of the woman's ability to handle herself, I'd knock Merle on the ground and sit on him again." He went on.

"What can I say? She's finally in the presence of a real man," Merle returned with a wide grin.

"And you know that nuns take a vow of chastity, yeah?"

"Not after they meet me, I can guarantee that."

Looking up from his mending, the Cajun eyed Merle. "Let's just assume that until I'm dead and you put a bullet through my infected brain stem, these women will maintain their chastity."

"You gonna stop me, gator-baiter?"

"Yes."

Daryl eyed his brother, waiting for Merle's face to click into that look he got when someone was added to his shit-list.

The click never came.

Instead, after staring at the Cajun for a long, intense moment, Merle grinned. "What if she comes to me willingly?"

"Can't stop her, won't stop her. Her vows are her own to break, but as long as she wants them to remain unbroken then I'll be here to protect them. Understand?"

"I can't understand a goddamned ass backwards thing you say, Cajun." Merle replied. "But I get the gist." He added.

It was then that Daryl realized that somehow the Cajun had found the right button to deactivate Merle.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Cagou** – Appearing to be sick. Feeling ill.


	31. Gêné

**LampPostInWinter - Oh gosh, you might get what you ask for, I get too attached to stories and often have trouble ending them. At the very least expect maybe sequels.**

**twin1 - Aw, thanks so much! Reviews like yours make my day! ^_^**

**skittletitz - My goal, to make Merle one of Caryl's most aggressive supporters.**

**Violeta27 - Hmm...you seem familiar...like I know you somehow...nope, the name isn't ringing a bell. *LOVES!***

**Lilone1776 - I almost want to get to a point with the Lieutenant where he can literally go 'release the Merle' and Merle just goes berserk on things and people and places. (I just got an image of Merle as the Tasmanian Devil twirling about and slobbering...someone with some artistic ability must doodle this).**

**Surplus Imagination - I always like 'rest' chapters in stories. Can't always be excitement and plotfilled, even fictional characters need rest. I know, my Merle is horrid, I need to make him an even bigger bastard...sorry about the weak Merle. *cries* I'll try better! ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**GG - I would like to think Sister Joan has much more sense then just forsaking her vows for Merle. I think Merle is just building up how much he thinks he can influence the woman.**

**SilverWolf84 - I think because the Lt. doesn't threaten Merle with bodily harm, he hasn't been added to the 'shit list' yet. Give him time though if Merle keeps hanging around the Lt.'s nuns. ^_^ Thanks for the review!  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - 'He's like the Steve Stifler of the Zombie Apocalypse ("fuckers, fuckers, fuckers!") except more dangerous.' Made me laugh so hard I had to run to the washroom because I was close to peeing. You pretty much summed Merle up using the best analogy anyone's ever made of anything ever.**

**AFishNamedSushi - I think Merle has enough sense to know when to stop being an ass before he gets a bolt fired up his bum. I still adamantly defend my decision to make Merle a halfway decent man. He's been through some shit too, just put up more of an asshole, thorny wall around himself then Daryl. The man is complex and I'm still trying to figure out what makes him tick as a character.**

**Brazen Hussy - An overexcited, over protective Cajun is the best cure for a overly horned up Merle. I stick by my decision to have Merle closely monitored. ^_^**

**So, I was having a convo with one of my lovely reviewers the other day that got me thinking about who I'd cast as the Lt...because a lot of you have been trying yourselves and it seemed like fun.  
**

**Anyways, why don't you kiddies try your hands at the casting game. It's kind of fun and blows, like, a whole afternoon. ^_^ Let me know what you've come up with, I'd like to hear your thoughts.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One: Gêné**

****Carol****

When she was young she had always wanted a large family. Not just large in the sense of three kids and both parents, but extended family as well; uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, all under one roof.

That was the vibe she had felt on the farm and it was how she was beginning to see the convent.

Everywhere she looked there were people trying to make themselves useful, people chatting, people interacting with other people, looking out for one another, offering each other warm smiles and kind words.

Carol knew something had shifted in her when she didn't see all of this with optimism, but dread. If she could take a lesson from their past history with 'safety' it was that it didn't last long. Walkers and men dashed their illusions of safety to the winds.

Heading towards the pump with a large watering can, Carol heaved a sigh at the sight of Annie chasing her beloved dog around, teaching it how to fetch, while Carl watched on like a prison guard, shifting back and forth with his hand on his 9mm.

After the barn Carol had dreams of Sophia. She wasn't doing anything or present as some kind of symbolism, but the dreams were always just like life. Just another day of doing the same old routine with Sophia at her side, they were vivid dreams of nothing, but they were bliss.

It hadn't rained yet, and while Carol and the nuns were hoping for rain to relieve the heatwave that seemed to have struck, they still had to water the garden. There couldn't be any hoping for rain and letting the freshly sown garden dry out tragically. The air was hot around her, smelling of the promise of rain, but humid and her skin was saved from extreme heat by the overcast sky that offered some form of shade from the sun.

Sophia would have loved a day like this, playing with Annie and Boo, laughing and teasing Carl about being so 'adult'.

She sniffled unaware that she had tears forming, just as a hand reached out to take hold of the handle of the watering can for her and jumped a little.

The Cajun Lieutenant stood there looking sheepish.

Quickly rubbing the mist from her eyes, Carol smiled nervously.

"Sorry," he said, "this is very awkward. I was going to offer to help you…but I didn't know you were…I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Carol replied, reaching out a strong hand to rub his upper arm. "I just miss my little girl on days like this."

She had never had many interactions with the man, but Daryl seemed fond of him. Before they found Rick, Daryl and the Lieutenant seemed inseparable and that was saying a lot since Daryl didn't seem to tolerate many people.

Eyeing her, the man made a small sound in the back of his throat, before setting the watering can down. He gave her a crooked, almost impish grin and held out his arms.

Carol eyed his invitation with a wry, unsure smile.

He wriggled his arms. "I promise I won't try anything funny. But you need a hug and my _Mamere_ always said to never let a lady cry in my presence without offering some consolation."

Not sure why, but Carol decided to take him up on his offer, shuffling into his embrace with an uneasy grin. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, if there was one thing she was beginning to understand it was that she could take care of herself if push came to shove, it was just his offer was so random.

Pressed against his chest, Carol noticed that the man smelled of the woods and musk, much like Daryl, only the musk scent was fainter and the woodsy scent on the Cajun was more spicy, like the leaves of the forest floor, then sweet like the air.

And he was right, she was beginning to feel better just hugging another human.

Pulling away, she beamed up at him.

"See?" He said, grinning crookedly at her. "Hugs are all powerful."

Carol laughed a little. "I guess you're right."

"Sometimes I am," he replied, picking up the watering can again.

Taking it from him gently, Carol looked him up and down. "Don't you have something better to be doing, Lieutenant?"

"Naw, well…I could be out hunting, but…I've been shamed by a turkey. Kind of…emasculated."

Standing at the pump, Carol filled the watering can, eyeing the Cajun as she did so. "Emasculated by a turkey, hm? Sounds serious."

"It is, yeah. It wouldn't be so bad if he had the nerve to insult me to my face, but his continued existence is an insult to my masculinity."

Squinting at him, Carol wasn't sure whether she should call him on his bullshit or just let him go on spinning his tale.

He helped her along by beaming widely. "I am, of course, lying through my teeth."

"I hope so."

"Half lying…actually. I'm waiting for the order to head to the prison, Rick and Daryl think they could use an extra pair of arms to load some things. I don't know the details, just that I have two arms and it'd be nice to get out."

Nodding, Carol picked up the can, hefting it and ambling back towards the garden, the Lieutenant behind her.

"Can I ask you something, _ange_?" The man inquired, catching up with her. "Something maybe you'd know as a bystander."

Setting down the can again to save her arms the wear and tear, Carol wiped her brow with her sleeve. "Bystander?"

"You were there the other morning when I…well I was," he laughed nervously. "I may have been a little drunk…"

"When you and the Mother Superior were in the kitchen?"

"Yeah…er…I may have brought up something wicked…and red…"

Carol nodded. "Right, the red and lacy thing, what about it?"

"Was she…she wasn't overly upset was she?"

"Did you speak with Mother Mena over—"

"No! Ah, I've been – here's the thing – the thing is…I've been—"

"Avoiding her?"

"No. No. I've been artistically manipulating my presence in relation to hers. But I wouldn't say avoiding."

"Seems to me you might need to apologize." Carol suggested.

"Oh, that upset, huh?" The Lieutenant sighed. "I suppose I was a bit of an ass."

"Not for that, I think you embarrassed her by bringing up the lingerie."

"I…how'd you know it was lingerie?" He demanded.

"She asked me to dispose of it this morning."

The Cajun puffed his chest out a bit. "So she didn't burn them…interesting…"

"Is it?"

"Well, to me it is. You still have it?"

"I tucked it in with the rags." Carol replied. "Thought it'd make a good tourniquet at the very least, if we needed one."

Rubbing a hand over his chin, the Lieutenant nodded. "Interesting…well, thank you for your time, _ange_." He paused. "You know, _honeychild_, if you ever need to hug someone again, you should try that Dixon boy, he looks like he could use one."

"Don't think I haven't tried," Carol replied.

"He is a bit feral, isn't he? Good enough man, but he's all hard edges and rough surfaces."

"Lafayette?"

The mere sound of the voice had the Cajun wincing like a boy expecting to be whipped.

Eyeing the Mother Superior as she approached them from the garden, Carol smiled and made to move off, leaving them to their business, but the woman stopped her with a gentle hand on her forearm.

"Just hang on a moment, please, Carol. I want to speak with you as well." The woman moved towards the towering soldier.

He offered her a smooth grin. "Well, aren't you the vision of—"

"Don't," the woman warned. "I understand why you got into the communion wine, the Lord knows with all you've been through you needed it, but honey, I can't abide you creeping into the dorms like a sneak-thief in the night to sleep outside my door. It's just not done."

"Well, I would have crept into your bed, but I thought you'd notice a six-four man folding himself up beside you," the Cajun replied with little chuckle.

The woman blinked up at him.

"That…came out a little more…intimate then I meant…" he corrected, he eyed the ground for a long, awkward moment, before peeking up at the nun. "English is my second language, so...that's my excuse."

Folding her arms, the Mother Superior huffed a little. "We're running low on food, Lieutenant." The woman commanded. "What are you going to do to keep our bellies full?"

Like a whipped dog, the Cajun bowed his head. "I'm…going to have to tell Rick I have to hunt today and can't go with them…I guess."

"Can't hunt standing around here chatting, can you?"

Feeling like the woman was being a little hard on the Lieutenant, Carol offered him a small, comforting smile as he slunk by her. He returned it with a quick wink.

All pity she felt for the man stopped when he spun in his heel halfway across the lawns from them and shouted back. "Maybe I'll sort through the rag bin before I head out…in case I need one, yeah?"

Carol bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning at the Mother Superior's confused look.

"That man will always be an odd duck," the woman stated with a sigh. "Carol, honey, I was hoping I could ask a favour of you and yours."

"Of course, we're kind of taking up your space and eating your food, I think a favour is the least we can offer."

"It's not that we mind in the least, Carol, but with more mouths to feed, I'm just thinking if this goes on any longer, we should plant more garden while we have the time, just in case. Maybe expand the plot out further, see if any of your group will be willing to go out and find us more seeds to plant. In addition to that, while they're out if they can find any canning supplies. Sealing lids, paraffin wax, jars, things of that nature, we can make a lot more canned goods for the winter." Touching a hand to her chin, the woman seemed to run through a mental list. "Recipe books too, for canning. I've heard meat can be preserved, but we've never done it here."

"Well, when we finish up with the garden, maybe we'll sit down and write out a list. The group's usually pretty good if we hand them a list, Glenn's a wiz-kind when it comes to finding things."

"Wonderful, thank you, honey."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

She was watching Rick and the others get ready to head to the prison for their supplies, Judith squirming in her arms.

Formula was already running low, but thankfully it was put on the list that her and the Mother Superior had compiled for tomorrow's supply run that Glenn vowed to make for them.

Carol didn't like asking him, the poor man needed a break more than anyone after what he went through at Woodbury, but he stalwartly offered, saying he liked doing the simple things again. To everyone's shock, Michonne offered to go with him. Carol assumed it had something to do with the woman's restless nature. Since she settled at the convent with Andrea she paced the wall, then haunted the grounds and finally paced the wall some more.

This was all before Michonne volunteered with go along with the Lieutenant hunting for something to eat.

The woman was either coming around or bored stiff.

Or maybe she realized that the food the nuns had been bringing her on the wall had to come from somewhere and had the decency to offer help where it was needed.

A form sidled up beside her, silent as the stars and Carol glanced over to find Daryl standing perfectly parallel to her, facing Rick and the others climbing into the vehicles.

Turning her eyes back on the trucks being loaded with passengers, Carol felt a rough hand brush against her elbow. It gripped her quickly, before dropping away.

Carol glanced back over to find him nodding once to her, she returned the nod with a small smile. Since the incident the other night they had been avoiding each other, but she was glad he came back around to her, because she had no idea how to approach him after the fool she made of herself.

"Ain't you gonna kiss your woman goodbye?" Merle's gruff voice demanded from behind them.

Everyone loading the trucks stopped and looked over in their direction.

Daryl winced and side stepped away from Carol quickly, his face turning a little pink.

"Fuck off, Merle." He replied quickly, moving towards the trucks.

Behind her Daryl's brother laughed and called out, "what? I'm not supposed to talk about it in public? Shit…just trying to give you a few pointers, baby bro!"

Glancing behind her she spied Merle's beaming grin and felt her own face grow a little hot.

"Learn some tact, you backwoods asshole," Glenn snarled from the bed of the truck where he was folding a tarp.

"Fuck you, Hop Sing," Merle growled, moving off in the direction of the church.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Carol decided to maintain her dignity and headed off for the dorms quickly, feeling a few lingering eyes on her back.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Gêné** – Shy, easily embarrassed.


	32. Embêter

**skittletitz - ^_^ Merle is going to bug the hell out of them though, you do realize this? (Personally I look forward to it).**

**Supfan - I'm not a huge supporter of suddenly clothes get torn off and they're doing dirty things Caryl...it's just not in character to me, nor do I write smut well...though I sometimes try to get a wee bit naughty with my characters. If the moment calls for it. ^_^**

**Kaira Sakamoto - Mah, your review...I have no words for how kind it was. I mean those are the perfect words to bring me close to tears. Thank you. A billion times. I wish all the good things in life come to you for making my life. Sincerely.**

**LampPostInWinter - What is it about Merle that attracts people? He's such an ass...but dammit, he's just...I blame Rooker for doing this to us. Confusing the hell out of us fans.**

**Surplus Imagination - I'm more worried about the people leaving...there's biters out there! XD Thanks, as always, for the review!**

**Brazen Hussy - Hmm...Harry Connick Jr...not bad...also, Merle probably does his best work when he knows it pisses someone off.**

**A True Dreamer - I've felt that so often with fanfictions...it's why I try to update so regularly. I used to read this one, they'd update like once a month...erg! I can't wait that long, dang it! Thanks for this review and the others. **

**Lilone1776 - What is it about accents? They just make people more interesting...damn my bland assed Canadian accent...I could be interesting! Carol is so beautiful and awesome if she didn't have Daryl in her life she could have the pick of any of the men, I'd bet you any money. Even Rick would get in line...**

**MollyMayhem84 - You pretty much summed up how I want the Lt. to seem when it comes to dealing with the Old Missy. I think he's like Chandler from Friends (if anyone ever watched that show) he makes jokes when he's stressed, so his reaction to losing nuns is to try to make light of the situation. I honestly think we haven't seen the last of his grief for the sisters. Anyways, thanks for the review!**

**Emerald Kitten - Merle is going to bug the hell out of Daryl, I see it coming...^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**GG - Yeah, Daryl really needs to man up a little and give Carol hugs when she needs them. I'd imagine the Cajun will give him a little push after seeing how badly Carol needs hugs.**

**Guest - Haha! You caught that real name thing, huh? Yes, she's having a crisis of faith and I think at the moment she's not sure who she is anymore...hopefully I'll be able to explore that a little without taking too many side chapters to get the point across. Thanks for the review!**

**AFishNamedSushi - I figured Daryl would come back around. He's like a wild animal, if they're used to you enough to let you pet them, they'll always come back tentatively if you scare them off with a whoopsie moment. Haha, I had to look up Brawny-Towels...we don't have them here (that I know of)...but I laughed. Hard. Thanks for that.**

**Axelrocks - I won't lie to you. Hugs are the best. ^_^ I think the Lt. is secretly shipping Caryl too. He's on to them, that's for sure.**

**LL - Ilkka Villi wasn't bad...a little younger than I envision, but that's the lovely thing about stories, people can see who they want to see. I know. My Merle isn't evil enough...should get him into a racist or sexist fight in the next chapter...bring back some evil Merle...**

**Violeta27 - I think I'm with you on that Vi, I couldn't for the life of me find someone who made me happy. The closest I got was young Liev Schreiber...but even he wasn't just right. And for casting an Old Missy, I couldn't find anyone who pleased me enough. What about you? Anyone in mind for her?**

**Newsqueen123 - Ehehe...how can I pretend-cast Sean Patrick Flanery to be the Cajun when I had him cast as Father O'Rourke from the very beginning? (Yes, I honestly had him in mind when I wrote the character). **

**I make no apologies for this 'filler' chapter. I'm trying to lighten the mood before things get heavy.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Embêter**

****The Lieutenant****

It wasn't that he didn't trust Michonne, but he didn't really feel up to turning his back on her, not the way she eyed him.

They had been hunting for two hours before he caught the trail of a deer.

Stalking quietly through the underbrush, aware that he was both on the hunt and potentially being hunted by uggies, he kept his senses clear of all else but the woods around him. It was a good idea to hunt in pairs, he supposed. So focused he was on tracking the deer, that at times he forgot to look up, to check his surroundings for threats.

While he wouldn't turn his back on Michonne, he had a feeling she at least had his back.

Holding up his hand as they pushed over a hill, he stopped their progress at the sound of rushing water. If it was rushing water, he supposed they had hit Skunk Cabbage Creek and that was probably where the trail ended. It wasn't actually called Skunk Cabbage Creek, he had no idea what the real name of the stream was, but there was a hell of a lot of skunk cabbage edging the water, so the Cajun had renamed it when he was mapping the area.

He hoped the deer was still there getting it's fill of water.

Before he joined the military, the Lieutenant had never been one for hunting, didn't much care for it, but times being what they were, experiences overseas and the training he received, he knew that sometimes it was do or die.

Crawling over the hill the rest of the way on his belly, he peered through the trees and branches hoping to catch a glimpse of a deer.

Below them the creek bed split the forest open like a gash on the earth and gave the Lieutenant a clear view of a nice fat buck bowing it's head to the water.

Smiling a little in triumph, the Cajun slowly adjusted his position, readying himself for the shot before even thinking of raising his rifle. Cautiously, he moved the gun into position, spying the handsome buck through the scope.

With the uggies eating up everything that crossed their paths, it seemed a shame to have to take down the deer, but their people would soon start going hungry and empty bellies was the one thing the Cajun couldn't abide. Not if they were in his charge.

Taking the shot, the buck was felled instantly and the Cajun sighed. "Sorry, _podna_."

Settling his rifle on his back, the Lieutenant hopped down the hill, followed by Michonne.

"_Cho-co_!" He exclaimed softly, eyeing the buck. "This is a big fellow! We're going to feed everybody twice tonight!"

The woman eyed him with the same cold façade she wore for everyone – except for the death glare she gave Merle – and eyed the woods around them.

"Except I never hunted anything this big without a truck…well, no one that I was planning on eating. How do you suppose we…" he eyed the woods as well. "Tripod…ah, we'll make a tripod…drag him back? Though…I don't want that trail of fresh blood leading to our door." Remembering how he liked to squirrel things away in his pack, he removed his rifle and the pack to dig through the heavy canvas bag. He had put an old sheet in there at the very bottom, folded up neat and small to use for emergency bandages when his supply of gauze ran out, he could wrap the buck up tightly in it. Pulling things out of his bag, he felt the woman's eyes on him.

Arranging the things he dug out of his bag in a neat line up of items, he finally reached the sheet and dropped it onto the ground proudly.

Michonne seemed less than impressed, but that was probably just her default look. Kneeling she picked up the cluster of dog tags he kept, eyeing them one at a time.

Wrapping the buck up in the sheet, the Cajun watched her with quick glances between weaving the sheet around the animal.

"I thought we'd eventually have some place where I could hand those in," he explained simply. "The ones that didn't have much left of them, the ones we had to take down, the ones I had to take down." He went on nervously, almost afraid she'd accuse him of doing his job.

Michonne fingered every single tag, it seemed. All one hundred and sixty-four of them, before she set them back down on the ground.

"I know they're added weight," he admitted softly. "I just don't have the heart to just toss them away."

Wiping his hands on a rag he started keeping in his back pocket due to seeing some sense in the one Daryl carried around, the Lieutenant pushed to his feet and offered the woman a grin. "Well, I figure if we rig up some kind of tripod now…we can drag the carcass back home, yeah?"

She nodded. "I'll find some branches."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

By the time they reached the convent with their kill, they found the nuns and those who remained all outside eyeing the garden, hacking away at the sod to make the plot bigger. On the wall Father O'Rourke and Carl both patrolled, hands on their weapons, the gates manned by Sister Joan and Herschel, the latter letting them in the back way with a grim nod.

The Cajun had always wondered about the back gate. It didn't lead to a road or anything visible, but when he asked Father O'Rourke, the priest said that years ago the convent confessor wasn't allowed to live on the property with the nuns; the old rectory was placed off grounds and had a little path leading from it to the convent. The gate was apparently for the priest's use only.

All that remained of the old rectory was the foundation and a shed that held nothing much more than a family of possums and some rusty tools too worn and brittle to be used.

Pulling the buck beside an old walnut tree that the Mother Superior had designated specifically for dressing their kills, the Lieutenant began to unwrap the buck, nodding his thanks to Michonne who looked eager to leave his side for some reason.

She nodded back and moved off.

Stringing up the buck, the Cajun eyed the creature for a moment.

"No, turkey, huh?" The wee boo chirped from his side.

The Lieutenant peered down, finding Annie and the dog and Beth and Judith standing there, he grinned at them. "Well, we need more than just a turkey for tonight." He explained. "Besides, venison is delicious."

Climbing him like a tree, the Little Missy draped over his shoulder and poked at the buck with a tiny finger. "You should make his skin into a rug for Mother Mena's room, the floor is always so damned cold." She griped, running her finger over the smooth hide.

Ignoring her language with a small grin, the Cajun moved on swiftly. "Well, she's not supposed to have luxuries like rugs, boo, that's the whole point of a vow of poverty." He explained. "Beth you ever dress a deer?"

The young woman shook her head. "I saw Daryl do it once, but I've never done it."

"How about a lesson?" He asked. "I learned from a man in my unit before we parted ways, he showed me some neat tricks."

The young woman beamed. "I'll go and give Judith to Sister Mary Claire and be right back."

As Beth hurried off, excited to be learning something helpful, the Cajun gripped Annie playfully and dragged her off his back, dangling her off the ground by her ankles.

The little one giggled loudly, her dark hair brushing the ground. "Hey!"

Easing her onto the ground gently, the Lieutenant laughed as she scrambled to her feet, her face split ear to ear with a broad grin.

Flopping onto the grass, he allowed her to clamber onto his lap, the dog trying to fit on as well. Wrapping his arms around her, the Cajun rest his chin on the top of her head and eyed his kill.

"Not bad, though, yeah?"

"Yeah, he's pretty big. I bet he's the biggest deer in the entire state!" She declared, wrapping her arms around his neck and smacking a kiss to his chin.

Scratching the dog behind the ear, the Cajun beamed. "Why stop there, I bet he's biggest in the country."

Annie giggled harder. "Biggest in the world!"

"Oh, definitely." He murmured into her hair. Lately he had found much time to spend with her, but he was grateful she didn't seem to mind much. The little one seemed too smart for her own good some days and he was glad she had the brains to know he had things that needed taking care of first. But sitting on the grass, waiting for Beth to get back, he enjoyed just sitting around with her like he used to.

"Lieutenant?" The wee one chirped.

"Hm?"

"Do you know how babies are made?" She asked suddenly.

"No."

The girl faltered, before glowering up at him. "Everyone does."

He shrugged. "I'm not everyone."

Waving his ear closer, she cupped her hand and giggled wickedly. "Mouth kissing."

Laughing the Cajun pulled back from the girl. "Really?!"

"Um-hm! It's true!"

"How do you know everyone knows about this?"

"Because…because Jeffrey Collins said so."

"Who?"

"My friend. He lives in Savannah."

"Ah, well, he's probably an expert then."

"Yeah, he's older and knows everything!"

Saddened by the thought that the poor boy was probably no longer living as they knew it, the Cajun sighed and tugged at Annie's hair playfully. "Why don't you go and find Mother Mena? I'm sure she could use a hug, okay?"

Annie nodded. "Okay. Can we play tag later?"

"I'll pencil you in, Little Missy."

The girl beamed and raced off, the dog at her heels.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Smirking proudly as Carol and Sister Mary Agnes bustled around the kitchen later that night preparing the venison, the Lieutenant leaned against a counter and soaked in the moment. He had caught deer before, but none as big as that buck.

It was so big the women had to divide it up and cook it in three different ways. They were roasting it in the oven, frying it on the top of the wood stove and Mother Mena and Sister Mary Claire had taken parts out to the campfire to braise it over the open flame.

Sure, he had a good reason to be smug, he had never provided so much food to so many people before and it gave him a little bit of a God complex.

Rick and his group still weren't back, but they had said it could be a day or two, depending on how many walkers were lingering around the outside of the prison. He wasn't worried, they knew what they were doing and he had enough back up that they could take shifts on the gates and wall without anyone missing much sleep.

"Oh, that man could drive a good woman to sin," the Cajun hopped onto a nearby countertop as Sasha and Beth entered the kitchen through the backdoor.

"Lieutenant," they greeted on their way past, both women unable to maintain eye contact with him.

"Ladies," he returned.

Speaking of sinning, he hopped down just as quickly as he settled, heading for the rag bin that the sisters tucked into a corner cabinet. Reminded of an earlier plot he had in mind.

Pulling the bin out with a covert glance behind him, he snatched the red scrap of material off the top of it and jammed it into his pocket, returning to the counter to perch on it in time to beam widely at Mother Mena who stepped in from the night as well, plate of cooked meat in hand.

She looked him up and down quickly, setting the plate on the counter at his side.

"Don't sit on the countertop, Lafayette." She ordered.

Slipping down he apologized quickly.

She continued to study him, picking up a plate of uncooked venison to return to the campfire with. "Is there something you could be doing instead of lingering like the scent of lilacs?" She demanded.

"I'll make a few rounds right now." He stated, heading for the hall that lead through the dorms towards the front door.

"Good, ah, honey, use the backdoor." She called after him.

He spun around at the table. "I'm going to sweep the dorms first, make sure nothing's lurking."

Mother Mena eyed him for a moment with that hard edge look of hers, before quirking a brow and going about her own business.

Hooking a hand around Carl's upper arm as he moved past the boy in the shadows of the kitchen, he dragged him along with him into the hall.

"What's up?" Carl demanded, pulling his arm out of the Cajun's grip.

"I need you to pull lookout for me, can you do that?"

"Sure. Why?"

Stopping halfway down the hall, the Lieutenant looked about. "Just keep watch alright, you hear or see anybody give me a head's up."

The young man looked at him doubtfully. "Why?"

Carefully pushing open the Mother Superior's door, the soldier smirked. "Because I'm teaching a good woman not to lie to a wicked Cajun."

"Lieutenant?"

Pulling out the lingerie the Cajun folded it nicely and placed it under the nuns pillow.

"What?"

"I think you should teach Annie how to use a weapon of some sort."

"Naw, she's too young."

"She should learn."

Pulling out a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket the soldier bowed his head to it in the near dark.

"She'll learn when she's more mature. I know you're worried about preparing her for the worst, but she still thinks babies come from mouth kissing."

"I just think she should have something on her at all times."

Glancing over his shoulder, the Cajun smiled at the young man in the dark. "At her age she's more likely to do more damage to herself with a weapon then an uggie ever could."

"Just think about, okay? For me?"

Scribbling a teasing note on the paper, Lafayette laid the makeshift card on top of the red lacy thing on the nun's cot and turned to face Carl.

"I will. I'll figure something out. I'm not completely dense that I think she doesn't need one, I'm just worried about her maturity carrying one around."

The two wandered back down the hall, heading for the kitchen again.

"Thanks for taking my suggestion seriously," Carl said.

"Thanks for watching my back and…keep this between us, yeah?"

Carl nodded.

"Good man."

Before the hit the kitchen, the Lieutenant pulled Carl to a stop.

"Can I ask you something?"

Carl nodded. "Sure."

"You knew Carol's little girl, yeah?"

The boy nodded, brow furrowing.

"What was she like? As far as little girl's go?"

"Hm, well, she was nice. Always listened to her mom, quiet around the adults, never spoke much. She was good." He avoided the Cajun's eyes by taking in their surroundings cautiously. "I miss her, sometimes. Like, she knew what it was like. We told each other things that the adults didn't want to hear or didn't have time to hear. But..." he trailed off, "I miss a lot of people these days."

Hearing about the boy's mom through the convent grapevine and what he had to do, the soldier nodded. "Me too. But you know, we have all of us here and now, in this time and place. That's why we need to live in this moment and not the past."

"It still doesn't make it easier," Carl said.

"Nothing ever will, but at least us stronger ones can make things better for those around us, yeah?"

Carl gave him a barely-there, ghost of a smile. "Yeah."

"It's why we have to torment nuns while we can." The Lieutenant added.

This finally pulled a smile from the boy.

"She's going to be so mad." He laughed.

"Why are you doing it, then?"

The Lieutenant sighed. "Because if she's mad at me, then she's not thinking about what happened with Sister Gertrude and Sister Mary Monica. It's a temporary solution to something that requires more help than I can give at the moment. But I'll figure something out eventually and then I'll stop pissing her off."

"And then what?" Carl asked.

"And then...I don't know...take a wife and settle down. Live to be about one hundred and three and become the best uggie killer this side of the Pecos."

"At least you're setting realistic goals." The boy replied softly.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Embêter** – To aggravate; to irritate. Or to trick.

**Cho-co!** – Cajun equivalent of 'wow'.


	33. Déchirer

**sammipoop - You're too kind. And sweet. Thanks. I hope I continue to give you joy at least once every three or four days. ^_^**

**LampPostInWinter - I know, it shocked me too. Apparently there's this whole video they make you watch in Health Class...and ugh...XD Thanks for the review!**

**skittletitz - Anything that unnerves the un-nervable is okay by me too. (un-nervable isn't a word, don't try to use it seriously...XD)**

**Surplus Imagination - Michonne in my story is still coming around to the others...I think once she settles in I may have time to develop her better. I agree with you though, the writer's didn't do much with her once they brought her in. I think it was just to appease the 'there's no strong female character' nagging types. To be honest, though, I'm not a huge Michonne fan. The writer's made her too bad ass, it's almost to the point of being unbelievable. But then again if they developed her better it might not be...whatever I'm ranting. Apologies all around. ^_^**

**Lilone1776 - I am hoping to give the Lt. and Michonne more interactions, but it's so hard with so much going on for him to have a good rapport built up with everyone. I do enjoy the thought of them making some kind of connection...**

**Brazen Hussy - No kidding! I'm working on building her up a little. Again, it's hard with so much going on. But I think there's a really kind side to her that can come out eventually.**

**GG - It's funny you mention preserving the meat. The topic comes up in this chapter...I like the idea of self sustaining communities (it comes from being raised on a farm, I suppose). So I have been researching several good ways of preserving food for them to set up. Also, the red thing will be passed around for a bit...don't worry we haven't seen the last of it. XD**

**HistoryBuff101 - ^_^ You can half now and half later. Ha! Thanks for the review!**

**Axelrocks - I like to think the Old Missy went beet red from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. Then got mad...^_^ Anyways, you'll see soon enough just how irked she gets.**

**TwilightEclps - Thanks for the review! Reviews like yours keep me going!**

**AFishNamedSushi - Haha! I'd be tempted, but I'm not sure how one would even get Merle into that thing...it'd be much too small and he'd put up a good fight...like trying to give a cat a bath...**

**MollyMayhem84 - I know. I hated Carl in the first two seasons, the little ass basically got Dale killed (well, not really but kind of)...but this season he's seemed to have finally got some sense in him. I actually don't mind him this go around.**

**Hey, just want to thank all the reviewers and readers of this story. You cats are classy as all hell. But seriously, I wish nothing but good things for you and yours, because you're all beautiful people.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Déchirer**

****Merle****

The skies had finally cracked open that night, sending a torrent of water down on the earth, lashes of lightening snapping and cracking across the night sky like the ends of a whip.

Sitting in the corner of the garden shed where he made a little nest for himself, Merle struggled to learn how to tie his boots himself with one hand. He had just left them untied when he couldn't find someone to help him, but he figured he'd eventually need to learn how to do it himself. It wasn't something he needed to concern himself with before, but now he had the time he figured it couldn't hurt to practice.

The door to the shed cracked open and the Lieutenant entered from his turn on the wall, his entire uniform soaked through.

"I feel a cold coming on, goddamned Georgian weather." The man complained, setting his rifle beside the door to shed his jacket and shirt to wring them out. "Catch the death of me."

Eyeing the man with a small glower, Merle continued working on his boot laces. "You bitch like a woman." He pointed out.

Draping his wet clothing on the shelves to dry, the Cajun placed his hand on his hip for a moment.

Wondering what the hell the man was so deep in thought over, Merle looked up.

Hell, the soldier was scrawnier than he thought; the uniform jacket must have made him look a lot brawnier than he was. But then again the dumb assed Cajun was the only one among them who found Georgia cold enough that he always wore layers.

Standing in the middle of the room shaking due to the cold, the Lieutenant shook the water out of his hair, before stooping down to dig through his pack for a dry shirt.

A dark patch on the man's trim stomach, just to the left of his belly button caught Merle's attention.

"You inked, Cajun?" Merle demanded gruffly, mildly shocked. The man didn't seem the type.

"Why, Merle, are you eyeing me when I'm indecent?" The other man taunted, moving towards his cot, dry shirt in hand.

"Trying to figure out where you put all that food you eat."

"You mean that venison that I caught?" The Cajun declared proudly.

"Are you ever going to shut up about that?"

Tugging the shirt on with a shake of his head, the Lieutenant eased onto his bed. "Naw, that was a year maker there."

"You know if you dug a cold pit root cellar here, we wouldn't have to eat all that meat up." Merle went back to working on his laces.

"Wasn't much left to eat anyways, not after all mouths were fed," the Lieutenant replied, resting his back against the wall behind him. "And what is left will make a good leftover breakfast for when Rick and them return. I'm sure they'll be hungry."

"But we could catch more, stock up for the leaner months." Merle pointed out. "Cold pit cellars…maybe construct a small building to cure the meat in…"

Scooping up a magazine, the Cajun prepared to settle in for the night with it by the light of the votive on the frame brace two by four at his head. "Alright, _Texian_, when this is all over and done you and I'll work on getting some of this up and running, I'm sure the sisters will go along with the plans. They have been worried about not being able to find canning supplies in a few more years. Glass lid jars are practically extinct and the lids we have been finding are fewer and further between."

Rapid knocks on the door had the Cajun bouncing off the bed and dashing to the door to open it.

From where he sat Merle could see the Mother Superior standing there in the rain, holding a soaking, red piece of lady's intimate apparel on a heavy duty looking wooden spoon in front of her.

"I suppose you think this is funny, Lieutenant?" The Mother Superior demanded.

Chuckling, the Cajun backed away from the door to let her inside before she got chilled in the cold rain. "I have no idea what you mean, _cher_." He replied. "Must be the devil's work, because you claimed to have burned that, didn't you?"

Quick as a viper she dropped the red thing onto the floor of the garden shed and snapped the spoon across the knuckles of the hand that held the magazine the man was holding.

"You're a wicked dog," the woman stated firmly. "The note was in that half English-half illegible chicken scrawl of yours."

Sucking air through his teeth, the Cajun dropped the magazine and shook his wounded hand. "Ah, _foutre_!"

Brandishing the spoon, the woman scowled. "That had better not be foul language coming out of your mouth!"

"No," the Lieutenant grunted, his voice strained, holding his hand. "It was a prayer for my hand."

In the corner of the garden shed Merle was laughing so hard he was coughing at the man being victimized.

Pointing the spoon sternly at Merle the woman shut him up with an acidic look, before pointing to the wet pile of red on the ground. "Burn that _thing_ tomorrow, Lieutenant." She ordered.

The soldier nodded, still nursing his hand, curling in on himself.

Waiting until the woman slammed the door to the shed, the Cajun let loose a bilingual stream of profanities that would make a sailor blue in the face.

Merle began laughing at him again, this time softer.

"It's not funny, _couyon_," the Cajun snarled, holding up his assaulted hand to show three of the knuckles on his left hand were split open and trailing blood. "That was my trigger finger that took the brunt."

"Well, that'll teach you to mess with her," Merle stated. "Shouldn't be fooling around with that thing anyways," he went on.

Toeing the scrap of red lace, the Cajun kicked it in Merle's direction. "Have at her, _Texian_."

Shaking out the lingerie, Merle smiled at it. "We should do something interesting with this."

"You're not going to wear it, are you?" The Lieutenant grumbled, easing onto his cot to tend to his bloody knuckles. "Because I like you, but not in that way."

"Shut up, dummy." Merle snapped. "No, we should—"

"Lieutenant!" Sister Mary Claire burst into the garden shed. "Sister Joan wants to see you on the wall!"

Merle stood up with the Cajun, tossing the red scrap of cloth aside as the soldier got the candles, blowing them out quickly in the event of disaster. Both men moved to the door, dashing outside into the rain behind Sister Mary Claire.

They raced across the grounds, heading for the north wall, mounting it to stand beside Sister Joan who was pointing into the distance.

Through the haze of the rain they could make out forms, at first only a small handful, but the numbers grew.

Merle was confused at first, as more biters seemed to seep out of the woods onto the road that lead to the main highway.

"What are they doing?" Sister Mary Claire could barely be heard over the noise of the rain.

Sneering at the dumb bastards who seemed to be moving into the open just to stand in the rain, Merle frowned. "Where are they coming from?"

"Sister Mary Claire you take Sister Joan and get everyone armed and in the church, I want half the able bodies out here with us, half with the others in the church. Nobody goes anywhere without a partner, yeah? Get someone into the infirmary to watch over Andrea, but keep the doors barricaded." The Cajun commanded.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Hit up the men at the gates, tell them to keep clear of the bars, but stay at the gate. Anything happens, head for shelter, but don't make a sound. It'll only attract more of them your way, yeah?"

The nun nodded.

"Alright, go!"

Merle didn't once take his eyes off the biters that were coming out of the woodwork, not daring to.

"You ever see a group this big?" Merle demanded.

"Yeah," the Lieutenant replied. "They tore apart a squad of Marines in twenty seconds flat."

Due to the rain Merle could do a decent head count of the biters who were gathering, there could have been twenty, there could have been a hundred of them hiding in the mists of the rain.

"Okay, we better get down from the wall before they see us." The Cajun muttered, sliding down off the wall, safely on the inside.

Merle followed.

The two men stepped back from the wall as though expecting a barrage of the assholes to suddenly pour over onto them.

Nothing came.

A small handful of people moved to stand behind the Lieutenant, armed with what they could find.

"Alright, we're going to pull it in. Head off for the church, keep our heads down until morning. Can't see anything in the dark with all this rain no point in bothering, we'll only get our asses handed to us. I want two or three of you to head to the infirmary. Barricade yourselves in, keep it quiet and keep it subtle. Merle, you're with me. We'll pull the gatekeepers in, before heading for the church."

Taking note of who went where, Merle watched Carol and Carl duck off for the infirmary to barricade and protect Andrea and who he assumed would be Michonne, before the others scurried back to the church with their weapons.

The Cajun darted ahead of him, quiet as a rabbit in the night, keeping to the shadows of the wall, but far enough from it that if something somehow found its way over the top, there would be time to put it down.

Reaching Father O'Rourke at the front gate who was watching the world beyond it from a safe hiding spot just to the right of the gate, the Cajun motioned to the church and he nodded, but took off in the direction of the space between the side of the church and the back gate.

Merle and the Cajun followed the priest halfway, still hugging the wall as close as they dared, struggling to see through the rain.

Catching a glimpse of the priest getting Sister Mary Agnes from her spot at the back gate, they watched until the two ducked into the church, before giving the front gate one last look and following.

Inside the church the Cajun did a head count, thirteen of them inside the church, four in the infirmary, leaving the only ones missing - the six who went to the prison. Everyone was accounted for.

Pulling pews to barricade the main doors and the side door, the group huddled in the middle of the church, while the Lieutenant made a motion up to Sister Joan and Father O'Rourke, before motioning for Merle to stay with the others.

Merle nodded, watching the three others go through a small door and up a set of narrow, spiral stairs.

Well, shit, he didn't want to be waiting around all night to find out if he was going to be a biter burrito or not.

Slumping onto a nearby pew beside Beth, Merle eyed the young blonde and the baby she held tightly.

"What if she cries? I left her formula in the kitchens." Beth asked softly.

"She won't cry," Merle replied. "If she does we'll just have to snap her neck."

Across from them on another pew, Herschel frowned. "That ain't funny, son."

"It is to me," Merle replied. "Like I give a good goddamned about Officer Friendly's little brat. Won't be pulling him any favours any time soon."

Chuckling as Beth moved away from him, Merle put his feet up on the spot she vacated and grinned. Noticing Mother Mena a few feet from him, cupping her hand over Annie protectively, Merle spied a look of extreme disapproval in her eyes and shifted, before dropping his feet.

He was going to go stir crazy sitting in a goddamned church with a bunch of assholes and Catholics. Damned brother of his left him with the feeble and the old when he could have been out there with them poking around and whipping ass.

Pushing to his feet, Merle decided to pace the floor, it was better than just sitting around waiting.

He moved from one end of the church and back again.

Sister Joan raced down from what he assumed was the bell tower, face wan. "A couple of skinnies got in through the bars in the back gate." She explained softly, afraid of being too loud. "Only two of them, but be alerted that there are abominations inside the walls. The Lieutenant says to stay inside and stay quiet. We have to wait until morning to see the extent of the group, but he says we'll be fine if we stay quiet."

Nodding to the nun who hurried back past him, Merle eyed those he was left with, before sighing. "Okay, everyone get down and get away from the windows." He commanded.

At first he received blank stares, before they quickly and quietly obeyed him, moving to the centre aisle of the church to huddle together.

Fuck, they left him with a baby and a goddamned dog, either one of them could make a noise at any time.

Running a hand over his face, he moved in to sit close, but not with the group.

Drawing his knees up he noticed that his fucking boots were still untied and set about practicing tying them one handed.

May as well do something while he was waiting.

Overhead a gunshot popped, followed by another and soon rapid fire was coming from the bell tower. The Cajun would only open fire under one circumstance.

Merle eyed the ceiling over his head, thinking if he stared hard enough he could see the Cajun and the others up there. "The biters have broken the gate," he stated calmly, knowing that the rusty old back gate was the weakest part of the convent wall. "They're coming in."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Déchirer** – To tear up into shreds or pieces.


	34. Rejoindre

**skittletitz - I do enjoy when the Lt. bitches...he doesn't do it often, but when he does...he's whiny as all hell. ^_^**

**sammipoop - Aw, that's probably the greatest compliment a person can get. That their work is better than the actual show they're stealing characters and ideas from...ah, fanfiction...thanks for the kind compliment!**

**spygrrl99 - Yeah, my grandma used to spank us with a wooden spoon (can't call child services, she's dead! mwahaha) but I actually think we deserved a lot of those spankings. Anyways...enough about me...(random TMI for you all). Wooden spoons do indeed hurt, was the point of that...thanks for the review.**

**Supfan - I can't wait to write more. Seriously, I have like four chapters waiting to be updated and I just want to update them all...but then I might spoil you kids too much.**

**Brazen Hussy - I'm terribly sorry to hear one act of violence under a lot of stress put you off the Mother Superior. But hypocrites of any kind are never pleasant are they? Thanks for the review!**

**Lilone1776 - I do spoil you kids, don't I? I expected presents. (I keed!) XD Thanks for the review!**

**AFishNamedSushi - Yeah, I should get around to explaining the tattoo at some point...Merle is a tough talker, no doubt, whether he'd actually do it. I can't honestly see that happening, he's basically a big coward under all that tough talk.**

**Surplus Imagination - Haha! The colour is what's pissing the Old Missy off, huh? Hmmm...? You may be on to something. I'm actually shocked no one's asked me why she hung onto the lingerie in the first place, when she could have just thrown it out immediately after talking with the Cajun that night.**

**A True Dreamer - Me too! Let's hope it goes well for everyone.**

**GG - Oh, I hate when a ship sinks. But it'll live on forever in your mind and that's all that matters. This chapter has very little (yet some Caryl) but if you can wait for...two or three chapters there's a lovely, Caryl-centric chapter coming up! ^_^  
**

**MollyMayhem84 - I was thinking of taking a hiatus but I'm not an ass. XD Wouldn't that have been evil, though? Mwaha!**

**Axelrocks - You ever notice the men aren't nearly shirtless enough on TWD? The only man that strutted around all shirtless and stuff was Shane and he was a dick, so...needs more shirtless men, I say! Wait...where was I going with this? Doesn't matter...**

**JackAndHoney - Oh gosh, you seriously made my day. Thank you for your review. TWD reviewers are among some of the kindest I've met on this site. You people are all class acts, really. There's no horrible flaming, no hate, just love. ^_^ Thanks, your words really do keep me inspired and keep me writing. So basically, the reviewers are the ones who keep the updates coming steadily. You should all thank yourselves for being good and decent human beings.**

**LampPostInWinter - Ack! Wouldn't want to cause your death! Here! Update! Live! LIVE!**

**Peta2 - Carol seems good at anticipating doom. Seems whenever she begins to feel comfortable she calls doom and it comes down like the four horsemen. Thanks for the review! ^_^**

**HGRHFan35 - Things are going to get dirty and bloody and walkers...ack! Thanks for this review and the others, they are as freshly baked chocolate chip cookies to my soul...damn, now I want a cookie. **

**TheDarkEmpress - Aw, again that was the kind of thing that makes me feel so good and keeps me writing instead of 'sploding things on Fallout. So thank you for that review. I am so happy right now.**

**I just want to say if a ZA ever does happen, I hope I end up in a group with my reviewers, because you people would never execute me in a barn. Right? Right? Guys?**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Rejoindre**

****Daryl****

It had taken them damned near all day just to find a way to get into the locked cells.

Glenn had scouted half the yard by the shops looking for the keys Carl said he must have dropped in the fracas, and by the time they got in to their supplies the sun was setting, so they made camp in the prison for the night.

Hell, the actual loading of the supplies only took about two hours, but he supposed it was better than having to slog his way through walkers. Daryl would rather waste a day looking for keys then being chomped at.

Turning down the cattle trail to the convent, he had to admit he was eager to get back. Not just because he wanted to keep an eye on his brother, not just because he had to admit he was beginning to like the place itself, but because he wanted to get some of the spare formula they found to Judith. To maybe return that makeshift crib he found for the baby to her, the one Carol had written 'Lil' Ass Kicker' on because she thought it a good nickname for the baby.

Maybe a small part of him wanted to just make sure both Judith and Carol were okay. That everything was the same old on the convent grounds.

Cresting the hill that would open up with a view of the front gate and the convent wall, with the towering bell tower behind, Daryl slammed on the brakes, not at all thinking of the truck following them, but thinking of the massive herd of walkers that came into view before him.

Putting the truck in reverse, he glanced behind and found the other truck in his way, trapping him between walkers and it on the narrow path.

The ugly bastards were already on them, so Daryl slammed on the gas and turned the truck hard, putting her in the thin strip of ditch that lined the road, but giving him enough room to turn.

The other truck was already doing the same, as him moving away from the herd gave them a view of what they were about to drive into.

Walkers slammed on the hood and rapped hungrily at the window, as Daryl managed to take a few out getting the truck turned around.

Both trucks tore off back down the road the way they came, leaving walkers in the dust.

Glancing in the rear view, he spied a few of the more tenacious bastard ambling after them, but for the most part they got away.

He just wondered if those they left at the convent were as lucky.

Stopping the trucks at a safe distance from the herd, Daryl hopped out and headed for the one Rick was driving, crossbow in hand.

The others were convening as well.

"Did anyone see if they got inside the walls?" Glenn asked first thing.

"I didn't see anything but walkers," Daryl supplied. "Haven't seen a herd that big since the farm."

"They must have been gathering for a while somewhere…or I dunno…what do we do?" Maggie asked.

Rick seemed deep in thought.

Sensing the man wasn't about to make a fast enough decision, Daryl nodded. "I'll tell you what I'm doing, clearing me a path in. Check on our people. They might need us."

"They might be dead already," the man from Tyreese's group supplied.

"Won't know until we get in there, hoss." Daryl stated, moving back towards his truck.

"Daryl, wait!" Rick called after him. "Let's approach this with a level head."

"Level head nothing," Daryl growled. "Where the hell has your head been the past week? Up your ass, that's where!"

"What are you talking about?" Rick demanded, climbing out of his truck.

"I'm talking about you staring off into the distance," Daryl stated. "Not getting any sleep, pacing like a caged animal!"

"Guys," Glenn interrupted. "Kind of in the middle of a herd of hungry walkers, can we not do this now?"

"Man, we joined up with the wrong people," Tyreese added. "You guys are insane."

"Daryl, I'm working some things out, okay?" Rick snapped.

"Yeah, meanwhile your group is going to hell in a hand basket! We need you here with us, not chasing goddamned butterflies!"

"No, seriously, can we not fight here and now?" Maggie demanded.

Working a crick out of his neck, Rick sighed. "Okay, what we need is a plan. They can't be entirely surrounded. There has to be an opening around the wall, if we can get close we can hop it…figure things out from there."

"What if the walkers are inside?" Glenn asked. "We hop the fence into a piranha tank."

Racking his brain for some way to get in at those who might be inside the convent walls, Daryl looked around hoping to be inspired by something anything.

Spying an old tin of chaw in the ditch nearby, he frowned.

"I think I have an idea. It might not take them all out, but it'll thin the herd some." Daryl stated.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

They drove in one truck as close as they dared to the herd up the road, moving slowly, edging in until they were a good distance in, before Daryl hopped out of the back of the truck.

Tyreese hopped out behind him pop bottle of siphoned gasoline in hand, watching his back as the two made their way alone up the road, keeping low in the ditch to avoid being spotted early. It didn't mean the walkers wouldn't sniff them out, but it gave them a better chance of getting close enough.

Seeing a good size tree that seemed right for the job, Daryl scrambled up it, moving high enough to see the road.

Tyreese nodded up at him and moving out from his position placed the bottle of gas on the road.

If it wasn't for the rain soaking the earth the night before Daryl would have never considered the idea, too risky with all the woods surrounding the convent, but everything was still soaked from the rain, so he had a good chance of keeping the fire limited to the walkers.

Nodding to Tyreese that the position was visible for him in the tree, Daryl waited for the man to hurry back down the road for the truck.

Sighting the herd through the scope on his crossbow, he lined up the shot for the bottle, before scooting out further on the branch he was on.

Wrapping the strap of his crossbow on a nearby branch, he reached for the rag in his back pocket and Salt at his side.

Tearing the rag into four pieces, he shoved two of them into his pocket and tucked the other two between his teeth, using the knife to slice open his hand.

He absolutely soaked the rags with his blood, tying one to a bolt and wriggling in the tree in order to get the bolt in place enough to fire it. It didn't want to stick in the slot due to the rag, so he had to rethink quickly.

Carefully, he draped the blood soaked rag piece over the end of his cocked crossbow, not sure if it would work, but willing to try.

Taking aim, he caressed the trigger and sent the bolt zipping out of the run, it went right through the rag, but the fletching caught it and took the rag soaked in blood across the distance and stuck it into the nearest walker's head.

It didn't take long for the other walker's to catch the scent of fresh blood and a good chunk of them moved towards the fallen walker, falling upon it in search for the source.

They were close, but not close enough to the bottle.

Draping the second blood soaked rag over the end of his crossbow, he let another bolt fly, sticking it in the head of the walker who was now closer to the bottle.

Again, the walker's caught the scent of fresh blood and fell upon the latest victim, but a majority of them were still not close enough to the bottle.

Struggling to keep a grip on the slippery wet branch he was perched on, Daryl wiped at his forehead with his bloody hand, before reaching for another piece of the rag. It left him with only one and if push came to shove pieces of his shirt, to light the bottle with, so he had to get lucky at some point.

He wiped the rest of his already clotting blood on the piece of rag and repeated the process, bringing at least a few of the walker's close enough to the bottle to decide it was safe.

Carefully he signaled to the truck that he was ready.

Placing the last piece of rag on the end of his crossbow, he lit it with a slightly shaking hand. He only had one shot to get it right, it put a little pressure on him.

Waiting until the rag was on fire enough that he was convinced the flame would survive the journey, he raised his hand and signaled again.

In the truck Rick hit the horn repeatedly, catching the attention of the walker's. They rose from inspecting the third rag victim and began towards the sound.

Just as the first walker crossed over the bottle, Daryl let his bolt fly.

It slipped through the bottle, spraying gasoline and fire everywhere, catching the first few walker's on fire.

The fire traveled fast to every walker that was doused with the gasoline and soon the group tearing after the truck was alight.

Daryl watched as a steady stream of walker's tore after the truck as it backed up quickly down the road, leading the fire away from the convent.

It wasn't all the walker's but it was a good enough portion, as the ones who were the first to catch fire dropped where they stood, the others who bumped and stumbled over their corpses caught flame as well, until soon more of them were on fire, still chasing after the truck.

Keeping a nervous eye out for any walkers that may have seen him, he found that most of them seemed too interested in the moving, honking thing, racing as quickly as they could shuffling in a group one after another.

When the walker's ambling down the road slowed and then eventually stopped altogether, Daryl took one last cautious look around, before making his way out of the tree.

Landing in the ground again, he reloaded his crossbow and keeping it trained on the world around him, started off towards the convent slowly, moving through the woods.

He took down a few walkers on his way towards the wall, but it seemed like he had thinned the herd nicely with that trick on the road. Hopping onto the wall, he perched there for a moment, eyeing the grounds before him.

A strange chill ran up his spine at the sight of what seemed like hundreds of walker bodies littered across the grounds, with a few stragglers ambling around, tripping over corpses, trashing the place. Even as he watched, the doors to the church opened and a stream of survivors tore out, weapons in hand to finish off the stragglers.

Daryl spied Merle and nodded to him. Hopping down inside the wall, he moved to join his brother, taking out a walker or two on the way.

"Hey, baby brother. Long night, huh?" Merle greeted, cramming his blade up under a walker's chin and twisting.

"What happened?"

Merle gave him a look that was clearly mocking Daryl's intelligence to ask that question.

Eyeing the others who were working just as fast to take down the walkers, Daryl did a head count, Michonne, Sister Joan, the Lieutenant, and Father O'Rourke.

"Where is everyone?"

"Don't worry," Merle replied, kicking a walker in the chest to knock it down, before finishing it. "Your woman is fine, she's in the infirmary keeping an eye on Andrea. Making sure nothing gets in while we aren't looking. Thanks for taking care of those biters outside the wall, that Cajun bunged up the back gate with bodies, but we still didn't want to risk coming out of our hidey holes without knowing for sure that a vast majority was gone." Wiping his brow, smearing the blood that was already there, Merle grinned. "Good thing that Cajun stocked up on the .22 ammo, huh? Been firing damned near all night. Should have seen that bell tower up there, it was beautiful."

"Well, when he makes a shot he makes it count." Daryl replied. "Anyone taken?"

"Naw, we hid pretty good. Them biter assholes trampled the hell out of the garden though, learned some new words from that pretty head nun as we were watching when they were doing it and none of them are fit for Christian ears."

"From a nun?" Daryl demanded. "She must be pissed. I'm going to check on the infirmary."

"Sure you are." Merle replied with a smirked. "Say 'hi' to Carol for me."

"Shut up and get the gate for Rick, they should be driving up any second."

"Hey, you be careful, some of the doors on these buildings are open, could be assholes lurking."

Daryl nodded.

Taking out a walker on his way to the infirmary, he passed by the Mother Superior and nodded grimly at her as she used a garden hoe to take down a another walker. She brushed her hair off her forehead with a bloody hand and returned the grim nod.

At the heavily barricaded door, he knocked loudly and waited.

The first face he saw when the door was carefully opened was the one he wanted to see – something he didn't know until that moment.

Carol beamed at him, that wide, child-like grin of hers that wrinkled the bridge of her nose and crinkled her eyes. There was blood splattered up her face in a speckled streak, but she looked otherwise untouched. "You missed all the action," she stated wryly, motioning him inside.

Stepping into the infirmary, he looked about and settled his crossbow on his back calmly, not at all thinking of tensing when Carol gave him a simple, but sweet hug. He returned it absently, eyeing the broken window and the two cots that had been slammed against it, a couple of walkers lay on the floor beneath, another jammed between the cots and the window sill. It looked like the ugly assholes got close, but were cut off from a quick meal by clever thinking. Still, they had been too close.

Carol tapped him playfully on the back. "Can't breathe."

Realizing that he had her in a vice grip style hug, Daryl released her quickly and stepped back sheepishly, eyeing everything but her.

"Everyone's fine, shaken up, but…hell of a thing though, those walkers," she explained. "I think we got lucky."

Daryl squinted at the way Carol seemed to just grin and bear the convent getting over run so badly, the woman was a little steam engine that never quit. He had to give her that.

"Small blessings," Carol added, reaching down to touch Carl's shoulder.

The young man looked exhausted, but still managed a nod at Daryl.

The door opened then and Beth scurried in quickly, Judith in her arms securely. She must have made a dash from where she was holed up. Carl moved to the door to ensure she wasn't being chased, before closing and securing it again.

In Beth's arm's Judith kicked and squirmed, croaking angrily.

"Judith is getting fussy," Beth explained to Carol. "I can't make a run to the dorms for formula. They're still uncleared."

"I'll do it," Daryl offered. "I'm already coated in walker gack anyways, may as well make the run."

Lingering at the doorway, he eyed the walkers on the floor and Carol who was taking Judith from Beth with loving coo's.

He was getting a little sick of these close calls with walkers.

Outside he passed the Cajun by the peach tree who was stooped over a particular corpse, one knee on the ground.

Daryl clapped him on the shoulder. "You alright?"

The man looked up at him with bewildered grey eyes. "I'm sorry about all this, _cabri_."

"Walkers happen. We'll just clean them up and move on."

"Feel like I should have fortified this place better, could have…could have done better. Should have replaced that back gate..."

Wincing, Daryl took a knee beside the Cajun, stooping over what looked like the corpse of a soldier. "Hey, you start thinking like that. Taking it on your own shoulders to protect the world and you're going to go as nutty as Rick. Walkers happen. They smell the living and they just appear."

The Cajun flinched, tucking a dog tag into his pocket. "I still feel like I didn't do enough."

"Look at these grounds," Daryl snarled, "I bet a good eighty percent of these walkers have a .22 round in their head. That's you. You took them down protecting our people." Standing up, Daryl pulled his cross bow off his back. "Now, come on, I'm heading to the kitchen for some formula, need someone at my back."

The Cajun stood up. "Yeah, I've got your back."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Rejoindre** – To meet; to join up with.


	35. Arranger

**HGRHfan35 - I honestly think Daryl is concerned about Rick, but the only way he knows how to address his shithouse rattery is to call him out on it. Maybe he secretly hopes if he points it out, someone else will deal with it. We all know how Daryl is about emotions and such. Also those apple-cinnamon muffins sound like pure bliss. I'll take forty of them. ^_^**

**ldyjaydin - Thank you!  
**

**Selbyzipper - I know. I skipped out on all the action on the inside...for a devious reason. Mwahaha!**

**Lilone1776 - I think, unlike Rick, the Lt. is better equipped to deal with the stress though. He was a soldier who saw action overseas afterall, think he's used to all the tips and tricks of the trade not to let things get too deep inside.**

**GG - Gotta love snipers. Give them a good perch and a decent rifle and they can take the world on. Next chapter is Caryl lovin' I swear! It'll be worth the wading through this one, I promise.**

**Axelrocks - Yeah, poor Rick. The man needs a hug, and then some lovin' in that order. I do so love the man, but I hate the direction he's going on the show, but at least it's realistic. Leading people can take a toll on one's mental health.**

**Brazen Hussy - Ah, ex-Catholic huh? Explains why you're drawn to the bad boy types. XD**

**Peta2 - Dary's working up to something...you notice he didn't reject the hug at all this go around. It was almost natural for him. Next chapter, Caryl goodness, promise!**

**skittletitz - Aw! How kind! You are too sweet! I'm glad that you're not a heart surgeon though...don't know if I'd like the idea of my updates causing trauma. ^_^ Still a sweet thought though.**

**MollyMayhem84 - I would never kill anyone...yet...*evil face* No, but honestly, I do like to like a character death great thought before committing to it. Daryl is crafty and the while process was fun for me, thinking up ways to kill walkers is a pass time of mine. Because I'm morbid apparently.**

**Violeta27 - Vi...you are most beloved. *hugs* And yes, where did all those walkers come from? Good question indeed.**

**Surplus Imagination - When you started that analogy I was scared, but it turned out hilarious. Thanks!**

**spygrrl99 - Yes, Rick needs a wake up call. The poor man. I just feel so bad for him...he's really losing it. Takes things to heart and it's not healthy.**

**AFishNamedSushi - You may have been completely right on Daryl's reason for being impatient. And the reason behind the red thing will turn up in a few chapters...because I wanted to write it into the story now that I brought it up...**

**Ah, sorry for this chapter, guys. It's Caryl-less. I apologize. But...stuff happens.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Arranger**

****Old Missy****

Under the weight of a sturdily built abomination, she struggled, clogs sliding on the floor of her office as he tried to remove the dead corpse from the one room in on the whole property she had felt safe in.

The onetime man was too big and she was too small, but she pushed and dragged, trying to remove the thing from her haven.

Clean-up was the hardest part. They found new things ruined by the abominations, not just her beautiful garden that promised food for all of them, but icons knocked off their bases, things trampled under careless feet, windows smashed and blood and gore everywhere from walkers that trampled through the blood of other walkers and dragged the muck with them.

She was determined to get every inch of her convent back in top form again. Just because the devils wrecked her back gate and let themselves in didn't mean she couldn't keep their home civilized.

Tugging on the corpse's arm, she flailed backwards onto her ass as the limb pulled away at the socket.

Collapsing onto the hard stone floor with the arm, she sighed heavily and grimaced at the feel of slick, sticky blood that coated her from the separated limb.

"Good Lord," she sighed.

Eyeing the ceiling overhead, she recalled the day with Sister Gertrude and remembered that there was no point in invoking His name anymore. They were in this alone it seemed.

She wasn't sure if God had abandoned them or forgot about them or just plain didn't exist, but she had the distinct feeling that they were alone. That her prayers, her time spent in devotion to Him had been a waste of time and energy.

It made sense to her.

She wasn't a simple mind by any means.

If someone as pure and kind of heart as Sister Gertrude could become something ugly and wicked as an abomination, then surely there was no need for any of her vows, for any of her formalities.

The thought of losing something so beloved brought tears to her eyes and she bowed her head to weep.

But that voice in the back of her head told her to 'stop it' and she did, sniffing back her sorrows. One didn't get places by weeping like a schoolgirl and it only proved to upset the others.

Clearing her throat, she eyed the corpse, tackling her task once more with vigour.

"Come on," she groaned. "You're leaving one way or the other, mister. I want you out of my room," she ordered, tugging on the back of his collar instead of on a limb, "out of my home," she managed to get him moved a few inches, "out of my convent and out of my life." Her hands slipped their grip on the shirt and she fell onto her ass again.

Sighing heavily, she brushed sweat off her brow with the back of her grimy hand. "You are a wicked dog," she declared.

"I thought I was the wicked dog."

She glanced behind her at the doorway where Lafayette settled smugly.

"Some more than others," she replied softly.

Chuckling, he stepped inside, gripping the corpse where she had, tugging him up and out of the room for her.

Climbing to her feet, she grabbed hold of the arm and followed.

The Lieutenant placed the man just outside in the hall for the time being, turning around to collide with her.

She ducked her head and placed the arm on the body quietly, before hurrying back into her office, Lafayette at her heel.

Dropping to her knees, she surveyed the bloody damage the creature left on her floor, deciding the rug was safe, but the stones would need a good scrubbing later with the stiff brush.

He dropped down beside her on his hands and knees.

She noticed three of his knuckles on his left hand were bloody, seemed they were freshly cracked and bleeding again. Looking from the wounds to his face, she felt like crying again.

"Did I do that?" She asked gently.

He beamed at her and held up his hand. "What? These? Naw, I jammed them in the door."

She studied his eyes and felt like breaking down all over again. "You're lying."

"Am I?" He inquired.

"I can always tell when you're lying."

"Even when I—"

"Especially when you," she replied, dropping her gaze from his. "I've never hit anyone before."

"You're under a lot of stress," he said. "I'd imagine you're losing a lot of faith in the man upstairs."

"That's hardly a reason to become so violent." She stated, getting to her feet.

The Cajun popped up as well, still grinning at her. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I've had worse."

"It doesn't." She admitted, moving to her desk. Using her scissors to cut off a few strips of cloth from her once white blouse, she motioned him over.

Taking the Cajun's large, long fingered left hand in hers, she began to repair the damage she did to him, bowing her head in repentance to him. She felt so foolish. Never in her life had she ever drew blood from a human being with malicious intent, never would she again. Not after the shame she felt over it.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "For being so hard on you lately."

"Aw, I don't mind you being a spitefire, I'm used to strong women."

Tying the tiny strips of cloth tightly around his knuckles, the woman made a small sound.

Ducking his head, he peered up at her. "Are you alright?"

She offered him a small smile. "Oh, good heavens, I'm fine, Lafayette. I'm not breaking down on you, I'm just…thinking."

His pointer finger curled around a few of her own delicate digits. "You should think less and act more." He advised. "It's better for you."

"Coming from a man who does his thinking with his mouth?" She shot back.

"Hey, I do some of my best work with this mouth," he teased.

Looking up, she tried to decide whether he was being purposely flirtatious with her or just oblivious, at the look of shock that hit him, she figured it was the latter. Hell, she was a nun and even she knew what he was aiming at when he said what he said.

"Ha, well…" he muttered.

She tugged her fingers out of his grip. "Um-hm?"

"What can I say? Sometimes the charm just spills out unexpectedly."

"Oh, that was charm? Sounded more like sexual innuendo to me," she replied, moving towards her shattered window and drawing the curtains open completely to let more light in. "Close the door, Lafayette."

"Being dismissed already? Must have really embarrassed myself," he shot back.

Glancing away from the damage she was surveying, she smiled a little. "I didn't say I wanted you on the other side, honey."

With his smile dying fast, the Cajun obeyed her, moving to close the door.

She eyed the window again, the bottom three panes on the floor to ceiling length window were broken, she'd have to board them up before critters came in and started making her office into a den of reproductive purposes.

"Go to my chair," she commanded, folding her arms and turning to watch him awkwardly stand before her chair. "Sit, honey."

He took a seat, hands resting nervously on his knees, as though he were afraid to settle completely in her spot.

"My name is Grace Harper," she said. "I don't…I don't think I have the right to be Mother Superior Philomena, anymore."

His brow puckered and he got that lost little boy in a department store look that he got when perplexed.

"Just thought you should know."

"Are you sure?" He asked. "That's a big decision."

"Influenced by a lot of hard evidence and long nights of horrifying thoughts."

He shifted in his spot. "Alright, as long as you thought this through, I'm behind you one hundred percent."

"I don't want you backing me, honey. I want you to take over for me." She moved across the room to stand at his side.

He eyed her for a moment, before shaking his head once. "No."

"Lafayette, please…"

"No. You lead; I follow your commands. That's the pecking order."

"Not anymore."

"Yes, now and always. I'm not fit to lead anyone."

"Lieutenant…" she urged.

"I'm going to sit here in protest until you renege that offer." He stated firmly.

Folding her arms, she stood quietly at his side. "Are you going to be childish about it all day?"

"Yep."

"You're stronger and smarter than me, Lafayette. I think you'd lead the sisters of this convent better than an old heretic ever could." She whispered. "We are so far removed from reality, because I removed us from it. I was the one who hid everything from the others, I knew…when the others didn't come back, when planes stopped flying overhead, when you showed up, one soldier on our wall alone, I knew. And I kept selling them on God and the belief that He'd provide, I kept throwing sand in their eyes and reassuring them that He would lead us to safety. That paradise was just around the corner. But they were lies. The only person who acted, who provided, who protected us was you. You armed us on the walls and at the gates, while I prayed to a being that may or may not exist. Who…even if he does exist doesn't care about us enough to prevent Sister Gertrude from…" she finally broke, there was no way she could stop the tears now. "There was so much blood…and the smell, Fayette! And the sounds that Sister Mary Monica was making…those…death rattles…she was struggling so hard for life…how could God do that? To them? They were such pious, kind women and He…we are alone…this I know now. He's abandoned us!"

A strong, rough hand slid around her waist and she was pulled into his lap like a child, where she buried her face into his chest and heaved sobs. She had promised herself she wouldn't break down again, but…it was so hard not to. The past week came rushing at her and she would have crumpled anyways if it wasn't for the Lieutenant.

She felt him tugging off her clogs, pulling off the socks she wore inside them and sniffled a half choked laugh, wriggling her bare feet.

When she was a little girl, her mother used to rub her bare feet whenever she was nervous or anxious. It was why she had sometimes liked to wander about the convent without shoes or stockings on under her habit, it was a comfort of sorts to her and of course the Cajun knew about this quirk of hers. He was anything if not observant.

He ran his calloused hands over her bare feet gently, calming her as she lay collapsed against him.

"Okay," he whispered into her hair. "If leading them is playing this hard on you, I'll take over some of the duties. But I still think you should be the one calling the ultimate shots around here. I think you're smarter than me by about eighty IQ points, which doesn't seem like much, but actually means the difference between Einstein and Forrest Gump."

Again she breathed a half sob, half chuckle against his throat.

"I may have failed you all today," he whispered, stroking her hair tenderly. "But I will make this place safer, stronger. I won't fail you again."

She looked up from his chest to find his face hard, determined. Afraid of that hard look it had, she reached up and ran a hand over it, hoping to smooth out the edges. "You haven't failed us, honey. You saved us. All of us. That was you."

Grey eyes studied her for a moment, before he smiled. "Can I have a breakdown too?" He asked softly, "Because I think I'm due for one."

Placing her cheek against his collar bone, she nodded. "I think it's okay, if you want."

He beamed, wrapping his long arms around her tighter. They were like steel cages around her small frame and she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the feeling of them encasing her. The man was just made to hug.

"I'm going to have to schedule one in for later, though." He said, hands moving soothingly over her back. "I have to get back outside and clean up more bodies."

She pulled away to eye him for a moment, suddenly very aware of how close they were, how hard his lean body was under her. "Sorry," she said slipping out of his lap to stand, "I didn't mean to keep you. I should get back to work too."

He nodded, still sitting in her chair. "I'll get the fellow by your door when I go."

"Thank you, he's awfully big." She replied. "I don't know what I'm going to do about that window." She added, nervous under his gaze as he continued to sit and eye her. "Any reason you're not leaving, Lieutenant?"

"My _Mamere's_ name was Grace." He admitted quietly.

She blinked. "Really?"

"It's kind of odd for me."

"Why?"

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Well, you know…it's not…you know?"

"Not at all," she moved towards the door, opening it for him. "You never call me by my name anyways, honey. Now let's get going. Back to work."

Leaping out of the chair, he beamed, stopping her from leaving before him, with a hand on the door frame. "You know, I'm not much of a holy roller...I don't pray or any of that, but...we all survived one hell of an uggie attack. All of us, not a single loss. Maybe it's small miracles, but...I wouldn't say you should hang up the habit yet."

"Honey, between miracles and luck, there's not much difference."

He nodded. "I know, but...it was one hell of a blessing not to lose anyone." Flashing her a shy grin, he dropped his arm. "My girls are safe, that's something even I'd thank the good Lord for."

Touching a hand to his chest, she smiled. "I know you're trying hard, honey. But the fact is even if it was a miracle performed by God himself, my days of putting no mortal man above him are over. The only creatures on my mind now are those on these convent grounds, they come first and foremost and this is something a good nun doesn't ever do. I'm not mad at Him, I'm not hateful or resentful, I just feel that my path has shifted and that it's no longer the simple dirt road a Benedictine nun would walk, but a treacherous, dark road that a secular woman needs to walk in order to survive this world." Removing her hand, she slid the simple gold band off her left ring finger and handed it off to the Lieutenant with a small grin. "So, take this, because I have no use for it and stop worrying, my mind is made up and my heart is at peace with my decision."

Holding up the ring, the Cajun smiled. "And what am I supposed to do with this?" He demanded. "It won't even fit on my pinkie finger," to prove his words, he slipped it on his little finger. It went on just fine. "Well, it does...but..." he tugged on the ring. "It...okay it's not coming off. _Honeychild_!" He began to panic, tugging and pulling at the ring. "It's stuck!"

Touching a hand to her mouth, she buried a laugh in it, face flushing hot with amusement as the soldier struggled like a cat with it's head stuck in a box.

"Does this mean I'm married to Christ?"

Too busy laughing at his terrified look, she shrugged, unable to coherently answer him.

"No, what does this mean, _cher_? Is this bad?" He demanded.

Still unable to much but laugh at the faces he was making, she shrugged helplessly.

Inhaling deeply, he stopped struggling. "Okay, naw, it's fine. It'll cut off my circulation, then my finger'll fall off, then I'll get the ring back to you...stop laughing!" He laughed with her. "It's not funny!"

"I..." she couldn't finish that, still laughing at how wide his eyes got when he first realized the ring was stuck.

He laughed with her. "It's a punishment, isn't it?"

Finally calming herself, she dropped her hand from her mouth. "Let's try pumping some cold well water on your finger, honey. It's probably just all that..." she broke off giggling again, "struggling."

"You look very pretty when you laugh," he pointed out on their way down the hall towards the kitchen.

"Honey, I'm joining the secular world, but I'm not taking applicants." She stated.

"It was just an observation," he added quickly.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Arranger** – To fix; to repair.


	36. Amoureux

**Peta2 - What is it about nuns and priests? Whenever I see a priest that's good looking, I'm all 'daymn'...but maybe that's just me and maybe I'm going to be next to you in the line up in hell (because if there's one thing I've learned from Supernatural it's that hell is waiting in a never ending line).**

**Brazen Hussy - God, I'd love to write smut and nothing but smut...too bad I'm horrible at smuttery.**

**Emerald Kitten - True story, I've panicked before when a ring got stuck. It's not a fun feeling...like, what the hell do you do? Cut it off? But how will the bolt cutters fit? What if soap fails? Maybe I'm crazy though...I do have voices...but that's normal right? Right? ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**HGRHfan35 - Gah, stop tempting me with sweet and delicious sounding treats! Dang you! ^_^ You have a great weekend too, my friend!**

**skittletitz - Could you imagine the poor Lt.'s reaction if she ever did kiss him? He would blow a cow. (Oh God if anyone gets that AD reference I will love you forever...)**

**MollyMayhem84 - Man, I would judge the Old Missy so hard if she would pull a complete 180 and just go nuts with the sex, drugs and rock n' roll...no, she's going to have a bit of a rough road ahead, but I think she's got a pretty good support system there for her.**

**AFishNamedSushi - Look forward to Caryl no longer, for the time is nigh! WTH Spy? What is that? You're lame, Spy...*self hate* Anyways, thanks as always for the review!**

**GG - A chapter of Merle being cock blocked by nuns...hmm...? I think I can slip one in somewhere...but only because you're such a loyal reviewer and because I kind of want to see that as well. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - Actually, funny story, my cousin (when he was just a young boy) couldn't fall asleep unless his mom rubbed his feet. It was weird...but quirks are quirks. Personally, I'm not a huge foot person...to much smell and they're just...feet. I dunno...hands though...I dig hands. ^_^ (Another update from the TMI Bureau)**

**Anyways, sorry about that last Crapter, kids. I know...OC's are horrible and should be hated and I promise to kill them all off when everything's said and done...but to make up for it, here's a completely sweet and wonderful chapter that is full of Carol and Daryl and stuff and things.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Amoureux**

****Carol****

Using the end of the head scarf she had made from an old habit to cover her nose, Carol approached the fire with a shovel full of walker bits scooped up from the grounds.

She nodded to Father O'Rourke who was tending the blaze just outside the walls of the convent in a clearing just through the broken back gate.

Tyreese and Sister Joan were stooped down by the wall, looking at the damage done by the walkers on the hinges of the gate, hoping to repair it for the time being until they could make a run into the nearest town for some cinder blocks to wall up the hole.

It was decided the back gate was just another point that needed guarding and wasn't really necessary.

Tossing the bits onto the fire, Carol hurried away, unable to stand the sight and smell of the sizzling corpses.

She could have volunteered to help out the nuns in the buildings, scrubbing away walker gack off the floors and walls and everywhere else the things had befouled with their bodies, but she felt better helping the others clear away the bodies.

Hopping over to help Herschel and Merle erect a piece of correlated sheet metal from the back of the storage shed over a broken window in the dorms, she smiled at Herschel and held it in place while him and Merle secured some random junk against it. They couldn't nail into the stone masonry of the wall, but it would provide better shelter than leaving the window wide open to mosquitoes and anything else that wanted to invade the building.

Deciding the men looked overheated under the Georgian sun, she took a break from scooping walker bits, heading for the kitchens to get a couple of tin mugs to get some cold well water for them.

At the pump's she found the Lieutenant and Mother Superior, huddled over the running water, head's bowed to an unseen task.

"It's hot out today," she greeted softly.

The Lieutenant spun around, tucking his right hand in his pocket quickly. "Yeah, looks like that rain we got didn't do much."

Eyeing the man suspiciously, Carol moved past him, heading for the pump, the Mother Superior helping her wordlessly.

"I'm going to get back and grab that walker." The Cajun explained sheepishly, moving off like a whipped dog.

Carol frowned at his retreat, but kept her head bowed to her work.

"Is he okay?" She asked finally.

"He's a little embarrassed," the woman replied. "I'm afraid he has my ring stuck on his finger."

Smiling a little, Carol took the full mugs in both hands, managing to balance four of them, the nun took two from her with a soft grin.

"How'd he manage that?"

"With the greatest of ease," the nun replied. "But mostly because he was being a smart mouth show off."

Carol laughed softly, moving slowly over the lawns so that she didn't lost a drop of water for the men.

"Serves him right," the woman went on as they rounded the corner of the church.

Handing off a mug of water to Glenn as she passed him and Maggie taking a break on the steps of the church from where they had been working on replacing the pews and such inside the building, she smiled at Maggie who refused the water with a small head shake, offering the young woman a gentle touch on her shoulder with her free hand.

Herschel and Merle were next.

They took the water gratefully, even Merle who gave her a small wink and a grin.

Carol wasn't sure what to make of him. She had always assumed he was half of Daryl's problems in life, but there were times when she felt that Merle truly cared about his brother. It was just that Merle was wrapped in a layer that was bitter and hard to take. She supposed it correct to say that he was an acquired taste. But also also felt sorry for him, he must have been through the same kind of hell Daryl had been through and it was horrible of her to outright hate him. Merle couldn't help the way he was anymore than Daryl could, it was just how they were raised and if there was good in Daryl there had to be good somewhere in Merle, though the older Dixon did seem better at hiding that good from the world.

Maybe it was like the soldiers who spent time in the foxholes together, how they forged a relationship that wasn't like any other.

With no more water, she split off company with the Mother Superior, heading back to the kitchen to get more mugs for more water for those in the infirmary. On her way towards the infirmary with the water, she spied Daryl knelt by a walker corpse under the peach tree and stopped.

"You okay?" She asked.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, the Cajun was fiddling around with this corpse, thought maybe it was important to him."

Carol knelt beside him, setting the water filled mugs in the grass to study the walker.

Smoothing a wrinkle in the sleeve, Daryl revealed a patch on the soldier's arm. It had two rifles that made up the cross hairs of a rifle sight, aimed at a black hooded skull. "That's his company, he's got the same patch on his sleeve."

"Think he knows him?"

"Hell if I know, but he was kneeling over him earlier. Took his dog tags."

"He collects them," Michonne purred from behind them.

Carol turned around to face the woman who had suddenly flanked them so quietly.

She stood with her arms crossed.

Handing her the mugs of water before the woman could disappear into the infirmary, Carol smiled a little at Michonne's strange look.

"Take some water to Andrea, have some if you want, I was on my way in there," she explained.

The woman nodded her thanks and left them.

Getting up as well, Carol figured she may as well get back to work, no sense sitting around when they had a lot to clean up.

"You wanna hang on a second?" Daryl stopped her.

She stood in her spot, towering over him and the corpse, before kneeling at his side again.

Daryl looked around almost cautiously, obviously nervous about something.

"I'm sorry about Merle," he said. "Riding your ass like he has been."

"He hasn't been bothering me," she said.

"I mean, you know, with those comments about us. About you being…mine," he shifted uncomfortably and looked everywhere but at her.

Carol smiled a little. "It's okay."

"I just didn't want you to think I was saying things to him," he went on, still very uncomfortable.

Daryl wasn't a talker and she understood this, but with her he always made the effort, it was just never on this subject.

"I wouldn't ever talk about you like that," he added quickly.

She nodded. "I know."

"Hell," he went on, "you're the only person around here I actually like."

"You like a lot more of these people then you'd ever say," she pointed out with a grin.

Reaching out he gently tapped her arm. "Come on, I want to give you something."

"Me?" She asked. "What is it?"

Rising to his feet, he helped her up, ducking his head and leading her without a word in the direction of the garden shed.

Carol followed him quietly.

Inside the garden shed had been mostly untouched by walkers, though she spotted a bright red piece of lingerie on the floor that looked like one of the men had something they needed to say about either a habit of theirs or a lady friend needed to get the thing back.

Daryl scooped it off the floor in mild confusion, before he realized what it was and tossed it onto the Lieutenant's cot. "That's not what I was going to give you," he muttered quickly, turning a little pink.

Carol laughed. "I didn't think it was."

Glancing at her, he knelt by his little pile of things and began going through them.

Eyeing him, she moved to the cot and picked up the red negligee, holding it to her. It would have been too big, but she could easily fit it. Red was her favourite colour…

When Daryl stood up, she tossed the thing aside and eased onto the cot watching him approach, his hand gripping something tightly.

He looked like a little boy as he opened it for her to see a wooden rose in his palm. There was a hole bored into it and a piece of leather sinew strung through it.

"I…thought you'd like this." He said.

She eyed the two inch wide rose for an entire minute it was so delicate looking, she couldn't imagine Daryl's big, rough hands making something so perfect. She looked up at him. "For me? Why?"

"Thought it might be a nice reminder of how things used to be," he said.

Taking the rose from him, she slipped it over her head and beamed up at him. "I love it, thank you."

Daryl nodded and took a step back, before rocking right back into his original spot. He seemed to be having a war with himself as he stood over her on the cot, before he reached up and set his hand on her cheek, cupping her face gingerly.

He dragged a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

She leaned into his touch with a small grin, her own hand coming up to rest over his, keeping it there before he could get skittish and dance out of her reach again.

"I just want you to be happy," he confessed.

Carol pulled him down onto the bed beside her, leaning against him. He accepted this invasion of his personal space, because it was something that he was used to with her by now.

"No one's ever truly happy," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you deserve to come closer to it more than anyone."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, nuzzling her head under his chin. "Just keep coming back to us safely," she said.

His arms tightened around her.

Smiling wickedly against his throat, Carol purred, "this cot is kind of comfy…we should test it out. You know, for durability."

Daryl scoffed. "Alright."

Carol laughed, pulling away from him to find his face dead serious. Pursing her lips, she slowly eased back onto the cot, resting her head on the pillow.

Rubbing his chin scruff, Daryl contemplated the situation, before carefully crawling over top of Carol, shielding her from being crushed with his arms on either side of her.

Beneath him Carol wasn't sure just how they got to this point, it went from him giving her a rose to him suddenly agreeing to fool around. She wasn't complaining, just curious for future reference.

He hovered over her for a moment, nose just barely brushing hers.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

Her response was to push up to press a soft, sure kiss to his lips.

Daryl tensed for a moment, but she persisted, not giving him a chance to chase her off.

It paid off in the end as he suddenly relaxed against her mouth, moving his, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Almost like floodgates had been opened in the man, she found herself swept up in a full-fledged passionate kiss, almost unable to keep up with the tidal currents that threatened to drown her.

Slipping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down and closer to her so that he pressed her against the bed with his strong, hard body.

Kissing Daryl Dixon was like coming home. It was comfort and security and Carol could have easily forgot about the walkers and the Governor's people and the hell they had all gone through, just by wrapping herself up in his arms and kissing him.

"Aw yeah, baby bro, get on up in there!" Merle's voice broke the moment, loud and right by their heads.

Daryl immediately scrambled away from her, sitting on the very end of the bed.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Carol eyed Merle at the doorway who was grinning broadly at her.

The Lieutenant's head poked in the open door. "Sorry about that," he said, still tugging and fiddling with the ring on his pinkie finger.

Over top of the Cajun's head Rick peeked in. "Yeah, sorry. We were looking for Daryl."

"Come on, peepshow's over." The Lieutenant said, ushering Merle out and closing the door behind the three intruding men.

Feeling the moment ruined beyond repair, Carol offered Daryl a small grin and stood up. "We should get back to work anyways," she offered, leaning down and pressing a small kiss to his temple.

He nodded, catching her hand and giving it a small squeeze, holding her back for a moment.

"You could be mine," he said nervously, "you know, if you wanted me."

Carol beamed at him. "Of course I do." Leaning down she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, resting her forehead against his.

He gave her a shy, quick grin. "I'm probably going to be a pain in your ass."

"Bring it on," she replied. "I've had worse."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Amoureux** – In love.


	37. Revenant

**Kids, there was so many kind reviews after that last chapter that to save writing a book at the beginning of this chapter, I feel the need to skip out personal replies this go around.**

**You know I love you all, anyways.**

**Hopefully personalized replies will be back...I think this chapter may get less reviews because of lack of Caryl...that seems to kill off a few of the reviews. **

**Special shout outs to my peeps: skittletitz, MollyMayhem84, AFishNamedSushi, Axelrocks and Surplus Imagination! You kids review nearly all the chapters and I don't think I haven't noticed! 3  
**

**Special shout outs to the rest of you peeps who have reviewed! Because all reviews are love, babies!**

**Also, I'm so damned pleased that Merle on the show is a voracious reader...this is somehow beautiful to me. That last episode certainly inspired me wonderfully! *feels rejuvenated***

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Revenant**

****Daryl****

Climbing up beside the Cajun on the wall, Daryl handed him off a box of .22 rounds.

"Here, Rick said to give you this from our stash until we can get yours built up again," he greeted.

Taking one last look down his scope to survey the area outside the wall, the Lieutenant dropped his aim and opened the box to reload his weapon with a soft 'thanks'.

With the back gate tentatively upright, they didn't want to risk letting a single walker creep up on them, so the wall was filled with four other bodies, all patrolling quietly, hoping the night passed quietly before they could get into town for supplies to repair the hole in the wall.

Daryl had been walking the grounds, keeping an eye on the shadows and alcoves of the convent lawns, when Rick approached him with the ammo.

Ammo was in such short supply that when Rick offered it to him for the Cajun, Daryl knew that their leader had finally accepted the fact that the Lieutenant had their best interests at heart. Which was a big step for Rick as of late.

Tucking the rest of the rounds into one of the many pockets on his uniform jacket, the Cajun nodded. "Good to be replenished," he admitted. "I'm afraid my hand-to-hand combat skills aren't so good."

Eyeing the patch on the man's arm, Daryl nodded. "That soldier today, the walker by the peach tree…?"

"I didn't know him well, Petersen I think he was, from Plumtree, Tennessee, just like Sam McGee. That's how I remembered."

"Who?"

"There are strange things done in the midnight sun, by the men who moil for gold," the Lieutenant clarified. "You know? Sam McGee? Robert Service?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Anyways, one day, after most of them had parted ways with our unit, I get up and Petersen's tent's gone, he's AWOL and we move on. That was just something we were dealing with daily, no real thought given to what became of the men who left, just make a note and head out. I suppose I was living under the delusion that most of the men who left made it home okay." He raised his rifle and looked down the scope, eyeing the area. "It didn't occur to me that they could be out there, walking around, doing more damage than good. What'd you do with him?"

"We burned his body."

The Lieutenant scoffed. "And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky."

"What?"

"Never mind, _Texian_. You on—"

A piercing scream coming from the dorms caught their attention, breaking all conversation and the Cajun's head snapped in the direction. He reached out to stop Daryl from racing off, laying a hand on his arm.

"It's nothing, tell the others, take my watch!" The Lieutenant said, handing off his rifle and hopping off the wall.

"What?"

"Just tell them it's nothing to panic about!" He called back, running in the direction of the dorms.

Without giving the continuous stream of screaming much thought, Daryl moved about the wall, giving a head's up to everyone who emerged from buildings and shadows. Sister Joan didn't seemed concerned about the threat of death, but she did look drawn when he moved past her at the ruined back gate.

"It's probably that poor girl," she said.

Daryl glanced over at Glenn who was manning the gate with the nun.

"For months after she came to us, she would wake from these night terrors screaming her head off, seems the night terrors have come back, probably because of last night's attack."

"Does she stop?" Glenn asked as the screams still rang out in the night air. "Because walkers—"

"It'll be okay," Rick assured him, moving from the darkness where he was patrolling the grounds. "I don't think there's many lingering walkers after we took out most of the herd. We'll be fine, just stay alert."

"Seems only the Lieutenant can get her to stop once she gets going, but even that will take a while."

"It's so loud, we could use her for a biter siren," Merle grunted, moving out of the same night Rick had. "Put her up in the tower on lookout."

"Well, can't keep an eye out for walkers standing around gossiping like old women," Daryl stated, moving off on his rounds of the wall again.

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

It seemed like hours before the screaming stopped, another hour before the Cajun turned up on the wall again, taking his rifle with a grim nod.

"She alright?" Daryl asked, not even pretending he didn't get the full story through the grapevine.

"No, but she's been down this road before, it just takes time." The Lieutenant said. "Sorry about that."

"No worries." Hopping off the wall, Daryl gave the Cajun a parting nod and took up his patrols of the ground again.

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

Later he slipped into the dorm, peering cautiously into the dorm cells, checking on those inside. Something about walkers getting into a previously secured gate just made him nervous about the possibility of stragglers.

It didn't take much for those assholes to create more with innocent victims.

Quickly glancing into the Mother Superior's room, he found the woman sitting up in the cot, the little girl and dog curled up at her side.

She caught his eyes as he passed and he paused.

"Sorry," he whispered softly to avoid waking the girl. "Just making my rounds."

Stroking Annie's temple, the woman eased out from under her, approaching the open door cautiously, holding herself to keep the chill of the night off her bare arms.

"It's alright, I understand times have changed and so have rules," she closed the door quietly behind her, walking at his side as he continued his rounds.

"Sorry about your little girl," he said, peering in on Beth curled up on a cot, Herschel at her side on a chair half asleep.

"It's not your fault," the woman cooed. "That poor girl has been through hell and it lingers in her."

They reached the end of the hall, where Daryl hesitated, before quickly poking his head into the woman's office. Everything was still, so they moved on.

"I'm just glad she has that soldier of hers," the nun went on. "I'm afraid she'd be worse off if it wasn't for him. Seems he's got a way with the young ones, charms them somehow." The woman clasped her hands together. "I don't know what she'd do without him. Fade like a wilted violet, I'd imagine."

"She ever talk about what happened?" Daryl asked as they moved down the halls that lead to the washroom with its ancient gravitational toilet and claw footed tub, peeking in on the cells that they passed on their way down the lonely corridor.

"If she does she doesn't say a word to me about it. Think the poor girl's blocked it."

"Probably for the best."

"Hm."

They moved down the corridor opposite, heading for the kitchen and dining room.

"Mr. Dixon?"

"Daryl," he corrected. "Nobody ever called me Mr. Dixon, world's gone to hell ain't expecting propriety now."

That was a lie. Sophia used to call him Mr. Daryl, meeting propriety halfway.

They didn't talk much before she went missing, but he vaguely recalled overhearing her ask her mother when 'Mr. Daryl' would join them at the fire one of the first nights the Dixon's were in camp at the quarry.

A sharp look from the girl's father had her snapping her mouth shut pretty fast.

Come to think of it, Daryl should have kicked the man's teeth in when he had the chance. Stomping him would have given him a little closure to the rage he sometimes felt over the way Carol had been.

She came a long way though, no longer tentative in her approach to people, no longer soft spoken and meek.

He couldn't have been more pleased to see how she bloomed without that asshole.

"I want to thank you, Daryl, for being so kind to Lafayette." The woman at his side said. "In the months before he brought you and your brother back, he was so lonesome. That man is a social butterfly, loves people, but…I don't think he quite knew what to do with us. He's really opened up and I have you to thank for that. Truth is from what I gather he moved around a lot as a young man, didn't have many friends, I think he was just desperate for some kind of family. In some ways he's like a little boy, so eager for companionship, but gets his heart broken easily."

"He's a good man to have around," Daryl replied. "I'm sure he's found family here with you."

"I think he's found a brother in you, honey."

"Does this mean I get to give him a snicker-snag? Because he's had it coming for a while now," Daryl shot back.

The woman laughed softly. "Oh heavens, don't start that, it's bad enough I'm scared to even approach that garden shed with you boys holing up there…could you imagine if you all started acting like a fraternity?"

At Daryl's confused look the woman beamed.

"I've heard about the lady's undergarments you boys have draped about in that shed," she explained.

He scowled. Was there some kind of community bulletin where they posted up-to-date information for everyone to read? How the hell did she know about the lingerie so fast?

"I also heard about you and Carol, honey." She went on. "If you ever need a priest and a church, I'm sure Father O'Rourke would love to perform a marriage ceremony."

Okay, there had to be some kind of post-apocalyptic phone tree going on, that or someone had a big fucking mouth.

He had never been happier then when he reached the backdoor and his patrol of the dorms ended.

"Well, my road ends here, goodnight, Daryl," the woman said.

He nodded to her.

"And, honey," she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. "Thank you for everything you've done for us. You're a good man."

**..-~-..**

* * *

******..-~-..**

Running into Rick in the darkest, most untraveled corner of the convent grounds in the early hours before daylight, Daryl approached him quietly, watching the man stare off into the darkness.

"Chasing butterflies?" He asked, gazing in the same direction as Rick.

The man blinked and drew himself together with a deep breath. "Yeah, sorry." Placing his hand on his hip, Rick bowed his head in thought. He always seemed to be living in his thoughts lately.

It didn't piss Daryl off so much as it worried him.

He didn't like nutty Rick.

"You know when we take Woodbury that we're going to be taking down women and children too? Everybody will take up arms to defend their town, just like ours would to defend our group." Rick said.

Daryl nodded. "I know."

"You ever kill a living, breathing child, Daryl?" Rick asked him.

"Of course I haven't," he replied.

"Neither have I," Rick said. "And I'm not looking forward to it."

"I've been thinking," Merle broke in from the wall nearby where he was seated, idly dangling his legs.

"How long have you been there?" Rick demanded, immediately tensing in the man's presence.

"Long enough to watch Daisy Dover there bore a hole into the nothingness," Daryl's brother hopped off the wall with a grin. "Didn't trust him to keep a good watch while he was in La-La Land."

"What have you been thinking, Merle?" Daryl demanded, trying to get his brother off Rick's back.

"Of a way we can take down Woodbury without taking out innocents."

Rick gave Daryl an unsure glance, but Daryl decided to encourage his brother.

"And?"

"Ol' Phil, he likes to bring back spoils of war to the people. Finds a straggler from another group, takes him back to Woodbury and finds out where the group is holed up. Then he mounts a supply party run, with himself – oddly enough – at the head of it. He goes in with about eight men tops, eight of his best and most bloodthirsty, they play innocent, get close enough to the group and…well let's just say he goes home a hero with food and ammo, while the group feeds the worms where they drop." Merle leaned against his baby brother smugly. "You find someone who is brand new to the Governor to play straggler—"

"We can lead him into an ambush." Rick finished.

Merle gave Rick the gun with his remaining hand. "Take out Phil and his most trustworthy, dangerous heads of military state and you might be sitting pretty with your conscience intact. You get lucky someone with no balls like Ol' Milton will take over…he's a little less bloodthirsty."

"Milton?"

"Milton Mamet. Science geek type, nice enough, but lacking machismo."

"You on the level about this?" Rick demanded.

"Wouldn't lie now, what would be the point? Send my baby brother into battle where he has to kill kids? He wouldn't and couldn't do it."

Daryl squinted at Merle. He was probably right, but if it came to Carol and Judith and Herschel and anyone within the convent walls, he wouldn't hesitate.

That thought scared him just a little.

"There's one catch though," Merle added. "Whoever plays straggler might not find themselves in the best of situations. The Governor likes to be creative when extracting the information and generally doesn't leave witnesses to his war crimes, if you know what I'm aiming at."

Running a hand through his hair, Rick sighed. "Okay, I'm going think about this a bit…we'll bring it up to the others after we get back tomorrow from our supply run. Even if we ambush them we'll need more ammo and medical supplies."

"Rick," Daryl stepped in. "We can't ask someone to go into Woodbury to be tortured and killed."

"We'll think of a way that'll get them out, just...let me think on this, okay?"

Both Dixon's nodded, Daryl a little grudgingly. He didn't like the idea of sending someone into Woodbury alone. It felt like a sacrifice and he only knew one asshole dumb enough to volunteer to be the lamb.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Revenant** - Ghost


	38. Ramasser

**spygrrl99 - I really feel for Rick on the show, tbh. He's going through hell, the poor man. I just wanna wrap him up and make a bundle out of him.**

**JackAndHoney - I plan on it. Reading!Merle is somehow even better than regular!Merle.**

**rebecca taylor - Thank you! Very kind of you to say so! ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - Me too! How fantastic is that? Smart Merle...yay!**

**skittletitz - Ugh, insomnia...I get it sometimes, it sucks and I know how lonesome you get at four in the morning with no one to chat with or nothing to do.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Mmm sunshine...with sprinkles...**

**Surplus Imagination - Yeah, I imagine Merle was typical big mean brother, but I'm sure it was done with love.**

**HGRHfan35 - I know. People are so gossip-y...I'd imagine it'd be worse when TV and the internet no longer exists...I'm sure that's the only entertainment they have...XD Aw, bless your little romance starved heart.**

**Lilone1776 - *looks around wildly as well* Hey, a nickle!**

**Violeta27 - LOL! 'He and God are the only one's having 'relations' now tehe' You know I love you, girl, but goddamned that almost made me pee a little...**

**Axelrocks - I bet you don't know who has the big mouth...^_^**

**AFishNamedSushi - Oh God, I love the idea of Merle just putting up porn pics on the wall by his nest and the Lt. going behind him and pasting little kittens clipped out of magazines over the naughty bits. I didn't know that about the South, I do enjoy little tidbits of information like that though, so thanks. ^_^**

**GG - Yeah, I'm not sure what's going to happen on the show, but there will be no killing children in my work...if I can help it. I'm sure everyone's thinking the same way.**

**Well, here's another chapter that's mildly unimpressive. But it's from Michonne's POV...so...I hope I did her justice...I probably just mangled her terribly. I am so ashamed...**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Ramasser**

****Michonne****

They were only taking a few on the supply run, but Michonne made damned sure she was one of them.

It wasn't that she didn't like the convent, the nuns were nice enough and she didn't get a rapist vibe from that Cajun soldier, but she couldn't stand just sitting around and looping the wall was going to drive her insane.

She made sure out of the three of them in the cab of the truck, she was seated by the door. Being stuck between that redneck brother of Merle Dixon's and the weird Cajun wasn't good for anyone's health, so she needed an out if she had to take one.

A town, one down from the next one over to the West had a home improvement store off the beaten path. It was a jewel of untouched lumber where they were hoping to pick up everything needed for walling up the hole left by the down back gate, while Rick took two others with him on a run for ammo and all other things on the list.

It wasn't until they were halfway into town that Michonne noticed Merle had hitched a ride in the back of the truck.

She wondered, then, if his brother and the soldier knew they had a stowaway.

Didn't matter. If she got lucky enough she would be the one that would put the miserable snake down.

Cautiously approaching the lumberyard from the north, they pulled the truck right up to the secured gates and Michonne hopped out with the bolt cutters to cut the chain.

She snipped the link efficiently and opened the gate for the truck, eyes watching the street around them for threats.

Merle hopped out of the back of the truck before it could move and approached her slowly.

She eyed him quietly.

"You have the prettiest skin I've ever seen for your kind," he stated with a small grin.

There was something about Merle she didn't like that went beyond his obvious sleazy appeal, something hidden that she had yet to decipher. It was almost like he was somehow hell bent on getting the world pissed at him. She never liked giving people what they wanted without due quid pro quo.

Calmly, she began to close the gate behind the truck, ignoring Merle as he leered at her.

Moving across the lumberyard after the truck, she kept a wary eye out for the things that hunted them. Just because the gates were secured didn't mean they were safe.

"We got off on the wrong foot, that's all," Merle said moving up beside her. "I ain't your enemy no more."

"But you were at one time, right?"

"Yeah, but you were mine too, just remember that."

"Your logic is twisted."

"Therefore invalid, right?" Merle teased. "Okay, I'll admit I have one hell of an ass kicking coming to me…but if I let you get a few swings in, can we call it a truce?"

She whistled low to Daryl in the truck, spotting cinder blocks tucked away behind some plywood.

Motioning towards them, she moved across the yard to get in position to help, Merle behind her.

"I mean, you want to kill me, right? Why not just get your rage out by slugging me a few times? Free throw style?" He went on.

Grabbing a cinder block, she turned to look at the oldest Dixon. "Can I have something in my hands?" She inquired, pointedly shifting the block in her hands. "_Free throw style_?"

Merle grinned and backed up a little. "Okay, not ready for peace talks…I get you."

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

They loaded the cinder blocks and plywood quickly, efficiently, which was how Michonne liked things, but she couldn't shake Merle's smug grin everywhere she looked, it seemed.

If he kept looking at her like a wolf the entire time, she felt they would be picking his teeth off the ground before the day was over.

"We should take a peek inside," the Cajun suggested. "Find some makeshift weapons, maybe some other supplies to repair buildings with."

The soldier was another man she couldn't figure out. He was too easy-going, surrounded by killers and walkers, the man took things, absorbed them like a sponge, before spitting them out in a plethora array of casual conversation and jokes.

No one these days operated without some stress, but the man seemed to deflect the stress like it was just a Sunday afternoon in the park for him.

Then there was Merle's brother.

He played things too close to the chest. Couldn't read him properly, what motivated him, what drove him, how he thought or operated. Behind sharp, smoky blue eyes he was an enigma.

From what she overheard around the convent grounds he had a thing with Carol, the short haired woman who brought them food and water in the infirmary and seemed so sweet to everyone.

But the woman had a bit of an edge that Michonne respected. She wasn't out to prove herself, but Michonne firmly believed the woman could very well handle herself.

She proved that the night of the walker invasion, while Michonne and that boy Carl held the cots against the window against the walkers, Carol had calmly disposed of them with a metal rod she popped out of one of the bed's frames.

That was the very same woman who cleaned up the mess the next morning with shy grins and playful comments cast in Andrea's direction.

Maybe the youngest Dixon brother had better sense than his big brother, because if Michonne were in the market for someone, she'd want someone she could come home to and curl up with. Someone who could heal her from the wounds the world outside the convent walls inflicted, but someone who could also handle themselves and this was what the youngest Dixon found for himself, apparently.

"Couldn't hurt," Daryl said. "We're here, may as well take a quick tour."

The Cajun beamed that crooked grin of his.

If Michonne were a weaker woman his grin would charm her, but she still couldn't figure him out, so it only seemed to put her on edge even more, like she was waiting for that crooked grin of his to morph into something nasty and vile. Maybe she was just paranoid after all those months of living by the grace of God.

"Someone have the keys or do I have to drop in Mission Impossible style from the roof?" The soldier asked as they eyed the back door into the main building.

"We'd probably be better off breaking the glass doors out front." Merle stated.

"Yeah, but there are uggies out there, I like it back here better." The Lieutenant teased.

"Come on, dumb ass," Daryl stated. "You're getting handfed living in that convent. Time to get back to reality."

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

Pulling the truck around to the front of the store, the four of them hopped out cautiously, there was no walker in sight, most of them probably picked up and wandered off with the big herd they got the other night, but that didn't mean there wasn't strays wandering about.

Moving to the doors, they tried them on the off chance someone left the building open.

No such luck, which meant it was probably clear of walkers too.

The Lieutenant used the butt end of his rifle to smash a glass door and tapped the shards of glass out of the frame, before motioning Daryl inside.

"Chicken shit," Daryl muttered, stepping into the building cautiously.

The Lieutenant waited for everyone to climb inside, grinning widely. "I've got your backs."

They peered around for the first few minutes, letting their eyes adjust to the dark.

Michonne sniffed the air, trying to catch the scent of death.

It smelled sweet like pine wood and musty like a hardware store, but not the rotting flesh scent of a dead man walking.

Still, she moved her hand to her katana, resting it on the tsuka, fingers grazing the braided material, prepared for a battle at any moment.

"Let's keep together," Daryl ordered.

"Wedge position, Merle, bring up the rear," the Lieutenant added.

"Why me?"

"Because if you lead us no one will see past your big head," the Cajun shot back playfully.

"Up your ass with a rubber mallet, gator-baiter." Merle growled.

Pushing through the throng of men, Michonne grabbed hold of a nearby shelving unit and dragged it towards the open door behind them. If the store was walker free, she didn't want to risk having one sneak in while they were shopping.

Daryl helped her, pushing the unit in front of the open door.

With their hole secured, the Lieutenant and Michonne grabbed baskets to fill with things they might need, Merle taking a cart.

"How come the man with one hand has to push the cart?" He grumbled.

"Shut up and push the cart," Michonne snarled.

"Can't we go to the Piggly Wiggly just once without fighting, kids?" The Lieutenant cooed.

Stopping in front of a tall display in the main aisle of garden tools, they loaded a few into the cart, mostly spades, a few deadly looking edgers and a garden weasel.

"What are you going to do with that?" Merle snapped at the Cajun as the soldier dropped the pronged thing into the cart. "Aerate the biters to death?"

"That's for the girls, not killing."

"Those nuns have you whipped like a little houseboy."

"Why? Because I want to save them wearing out their knees?"

Merle's eyes lit up at the open innuendo the soldier left hanging.

"I bet they have some seeds here," Michonne pointed out, breaking off what she was sure was going to be a comment she would have to kick the redneck's ass for.

Daryl nodded. "We might have better luck than Rick's group finding them. Let's split up, get done faster that way."

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

Down the aisle with the garden supplies, they found a whole bunch of seeds, most of which the Cajun stuffed into his pockets like a chipmunk saving up for winter, which Michonne supposed he was.

She put a few packets in her basket, they were relatively light and well-kept seeds lasted a few years, couldn't hurt to get the nuns stocked up on them.

"So, where you from, Michonne?" The Cajun boy put a French twist on her name that almost brought a smile to her lips.

"Somewhere else."

"Yeah, me too."

He tossed a few gardening gloves in his basket as they ambled down the aisle. Stopping at bags of onions, he reached out and squeezed them to test if they were still good to plant. The first few crunched into nothing in his hand, but he dug through the bags and found a few that still seemed like they might grow.

"You know, I heard you're not with any group in particular," he went on.

"So?"

"I'm just saying we wouldn't kick you out if you wanted to stay on at the convent after all this mess with the Governor is over." He explained.

Nothing came to her mind in ways of a response to his proposal. She wasn't really prepared for anyone to invite her to stay anywhere and wasn't sure if she wanted to anyways. Things were easier when it was just her.

She decided to ignore his invitation for the moment, focusing on gathering things.

"I'm actually hoping Rick and his group stay on with us," the Lieutenant went on. "I like having them with us at the convent, they're good people. I think they make the sisters feel better, like there's hope for us."

Stopping, the Cajun eyed her for a moment, grinning slightly.

He was handsome enough, she supposed, youthful, though she doubted he was under the age of thirty. Maybe forty if she had to guess, but his age wasn't apparent in anything but the way he moved. His long legs moved gracefully enough, but there was a bit of age to the way he knelt or stooped at times. Being that he was a soldier, a marine nonetheless, she assumed he was in top physical form, but couldn't see him being as bulky as the layers he wore made him seem.

"You don't talk much, do you?" He asked, hooking the basket on his arm, freeing up a hand to tug at the ring on his pinkie finger.

"I have nothing important to say." She replied.

"Yeah, I don't either, but I talk a lot. It doesn't bother you, does it?"

She studied him hard for a moment. She hated chatty people, but his sort of chatter wasn't annoying in the least, it was almost friendly, comforting. "No."

He beamed at her. "My _Mamere_ always said I could talk the ears off a deaf man. Course she was bitten by a bat and at the time we thought she might have been rabid."

Michonne blinked at his story, before a small scoff-like laugh escaped her. The fleeting smile she flashed didn't last long at all, but it was enough to widen the soldier's already impossibly wide grin.

"Like that one, huh?" He teased her a little. "Well, I'll tell you the whole story later, yeah? It ends with her drinking a box of red wine and climbing onto the roof of our house trying to fly at the moon."

He stopped at an end display of plastic signs and after a moment of studying them quietly, taking in the display with sharp grey eyes, he picked up one that read 'No Trespassing' and dropped it in his basket.

Michonne thought it was odd, but let it slide.

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

They met Daryl and Merle in the main aisle again. The two men had cleared out half of the hedge trimmers to make weapons with, a small generator in case they needed and a spotlight stand for emergency nighttime activities.

Daryl was wheeling a wheel barrel for them to mix the cement for the wall, a bag of mix on the bottom of the cart. The wheel barrel had a few trowels and things in the bottom of it for repairing the damage to the convent, a bag of nails and some hammers for repairing some of the wooden buildings where windows had been smashed.

As they reached the door where they had secured themselves in, Michonne peered out.

"Walkers," Daryl said from her side, eyeing the same handful of undead she spotted. There wasn't enough of them to warrant panic.

"I say we throw the Cajun out there and drive off while they're feasting," Merle stated.

"Thanks, Merle. It's good to know you have my back."

Drawing her katana, Michone shoved the shelf out of the way enough for her to move through the mass of spilled items and slip through the open door, heading for the nearest thing.

Behind her she heard the others follow, leaving their plundered goods until the coast was clear.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Ramasser** – To gather, to pick up or to harvest.


	39. Aimer

**Ugh, I had replies to all your lovely reviews...but in my half asleep state didn't save this...dammit...all my editing...ah, I'm going to bed. Enjoy the un-edited, unreplied chapter for now.  
**

**Loves...and whatever...sleepy time.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Aimer**

****Daryl****

It was after the sun was at its highest point in the sky when they got back to the convent, exhausted from the silent, tense road trip and ready to get the back gate hole repaired before dark.

The walkers they had put down at the lumberyard weren't many, but the fact that some were still lingering in nearby towns after the herd moved through didn't settle well with him.

Maybe he was just being over cautious, but he didn't want to leave the convent for too long without having it completely secured again.

Pulling in through the front gate, he pulled the truck to a stop in front of the church where the rest were gathering.

They'd drop off the other goodies they scored at the lumberyard before he backed the truck with the cinderblocks up to the open gate to save them wear and tear on their backs hefting the blocks that far.

The others started helping to unload the makeshift weapons and the likes first, grabbing what they could, while Daryl took a quick tour around the convent grounds just to check on the place.

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

They worked for the rest of the day getting the back gate closed up securely, the cinder block wasn't pretty against the limestone of the convent's original wall, but it was better than a weak point in the structure.

Placing the last block in place, Daryl stepped back to admire his handiwork with Father O'Rourke and Sister Mary Agnes who had been helping him. The others eager to get the garden replanted, to get the windows boarded up and repaired to the best of their abilities.

"It'll be dry enough in the morning, we'll just have to keep a closer eye on it for tonight," he said.

They had double blocked it in order to strengthen the new patch, but the cement wouldn't be one hundred percent until it dried come morning.

He just hoped they didn't get a herd moving through.

"We'll just double the watch here tonight," the priest said, dusting his hands off on his black pants. "Should be okay if we're vigilant enough," he added.

"I'd like to hit that lumberyard again at some point," Daryl stated. "They had a lot of good stuff for defending the place, but we didn't have the room."

"If they have those pre-fab garden shed kits, we might be able to make a few more buildings for people to get some privacy," Sister Mary Agnes pointed out. "Good Lord knows we could use some."

Daryl nodded.

"I'd imagine some of us more than others," the priest added with a small, cat-like grin.

"Don't you have a wall to be on?" Daryl growled.

The priest chuckled and walked off, heading for the nearest part of the old wall to climb onto.

Sister Mary Agnes avoided his gaze, ducking her head and hurrying towards the dorms, taking with her some of the tools they used to clean at the water pump.

Pushing the wheel barrel in the direction of the storage shed, he met up with Merle and the Cajun who were heading his way.

"Where the hell did you two get off to?" He demanded.

"We were doing stuff," the Lieutenant said quickly.

"Patrolling the wall," Merle said at the same time.

There was a quick exchange of glances, before the Cajun reiterated Merle's statement. "We were patrolling the wall."

Scowling at the men, Daryl kept pushing the wheel barrel in the direction of the sheds.

"I'll get that," the Lieutenant swooped in, taking the wheel barrel by force, pushing Daryl out of the way.

Before Daryl could wrap his head around what the hell the two were up to, the Lieutenant shuffled off with the wheel barrel and Merle spotted something behind Daryl which had him wandering off in the opposite direction with a muttered, "I'm going to find me a skirt to chase."

Glancing behind him to see the threat that had Merle evacuating the area, he found Carol approaching, Judith in her arms, Annie and the dog at her heel.

She smiled widely at him.

"I feel like I'm being avoided," she teased, eyeing Merle's retreating back.

"I don't know what the hell is up with them." He admitted, holding out his arms for the Lil' Asskicker.

Handing her over, Carol held a hand to shield her eyes, gazing in the direction of the patched back gate.

"Hi, Mr. Daryl!" Annie chirped softly.

He nodded at her. "You been helping out today?" He asked.

She beamed. "I was in charge of sorting the seeds."

"That sounds useful," he lied.

She giggled.

"Everything go okay at the lumberyard today?" Carol asked, idly stroking Annie's hair, holding the girl against her warmly.

"Yeah, it went smoothly. I'm thinking of hitting it up again, they were pretty well stocked." In his arms Judith mewled and struck out with a gobby little hand, gripping at the top button of his shirt. He caught her little hand with his and wiggled it playfully. "She's going to be knocking boys on their asses soon," he mused with a small grin.

Carol laughed. "I'm sure the boys who come around will have to run the gauntlet of you, Rick and Carl first."

He smiled down at Judith as the little baby smacked her lips, blinking big baby blue eyes up at him. It soothed his heart to think that maybe he would mean that much to the little girl when she got older, that maybe he could protect her from not just the walkers, but possible suitors.

He just had to make sure they lived long enough to see her grow up.

Glancing up he found Carol looking at him in that way she had that made him feel almost worthy of something. He shifted uncomfortably.

Why the hell the woman thought so highly of him was still completely beyond his comprehension, but he wasn't going to deny he didn't enjoy it. It made him feel like he could do anything, because she believed he could.

He really wanted to kiss her then. Show her how much he appreciated those funny looks she gave him, but he didn't think she'd want him doing that in front of Annie. He still wasn't clear on the rules on displays of affection in front of children.

The sound of a truck's engine approaching up the worn cattle trail of a road to the convent had him jerking his head in the direction of the front gate.

It seemed Rick's supply run was coming home.

He moved across the lawns, Carol and her entourage at his heels, to greet the returning group.

As their tall leader emerged from the truck, Daryl nodded a greeting to him.

Rick looked better than he had, there was colour back in his face and the Mother Superior had made him shave and clean up some, but the man still looked tired.

He took Judith as Daryl moved to stand beside him, offering his baby girl a gentle smile.

"How'd it go?" Carol asked.

"We found some good stuff, but not much ammo but enough to defend ourselves right now coupled with the stuff we already have. Seems all the common ammo was picked over at the gun shop we came across." Rick replied.

Giving Rick a supportive hug, Carol smiled. "Well, I'm glad you're all back safely."

She turned cautious eyes on Daryl that flickered across his features almost nervously, before settling on Rick again.

For a moment he was confused about her worry. Before the thought came to him that she was probably expecting jealously for touching Rick, but Daryl didn't care. He knew Carol showed physical affection to people who needed it most. He wasn't anything like Ed. He wasn't going to fly off the handle over something as innocent as a hug.

Of course he couldn't honestly say he'd be too pleased if Carol and Rick decided to swap spit in front of him, but he'd imagine that was normal for any man who had a tentative relationship with a woman.

Besides, Rick needed all the support he could get and Daryl wasn't the hugging type.

"We found some seeds," Daryl said, "some things that we can make weapons out of. Hell we already fixed the wall."

Rick nodded. "Okay. Have you had a chance to speak with the Mother Superior to call a meeting?"

Daryl shook his head. "Figured you'd want to bring up the subject with her yourself."

With blue eyes darting about their surroundings, Rick shook his head once. "No, I think you can handle that. I'm going to spend some much needed time with my baby girl."

Carol beamed, reaching out to touch a gentle hand to his arm. "I'll head inside and see what I can find to eat for you boys. You all must be hungry."

Both men nodded their thanks to the woman and watched as she moved off for the dorms, her shadows falling in line behind her.

Holding his baby girl against his chest, Rick moved in close to Daryl, leaning down conspiratorially. "Don't ever let that woman go."

Daryl eyed the man who had at one time been the jackass who handcuffed his brother to a roof, who had at one time been just some man who wanted to lead them to safety at the CDC, who had become a leader and suddenly a brother, and shook his head. He had no intentions of ever letting go and he couldn't understand why Rick would even think he would. Daryl knew a good thing when he saw one and Carol was perhaps the best thing that could have ever come into his life.

Giving Daryl a dry grin, Rick nodded and moved off, cooing to his baby girl.

The man was on the mend and it made Daryl breathe a lot easier.

Putting his head down, he shifted his crossbow on his shoulder and moved in the direction of the garden where he knew the Mother Superior was working diligently on recovering her seed potatoes, the only things they couldn't find at the home improvement centre.

Moving up to stand at the edge of the garden, he smirked a little at the woman who was kneeling among her rows of delicately planted veggies, bemoaning her potatoes and digging through the dirt for the root vegetables to replant them back where they were supposed to be.

"Uh, excuse me?" He greeted.

She looked up, running a muddy wrist over her brow, pushing her bangs off her forehead. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Can I have a word with you?" He asked almost shyly.

Dusting the rich topsoil off her hands, she got to her feet and carefully picked her way across the garden plot, heading for him. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

"We need to have a meeting, everyone. I was hoping you and yours could be there too."

"Who'll man the gate?"

"I think we'll be fine if we hold it on the front lawns, we just need everybody present. Carl'll man the wall while we meet, Beth can handle the gate for the time being."

The woman eyed him with worried eyes the colour of Bermuda ocean waters. "Is everything okay?"

"We just need to talk, is all, plan things as a group."

"I'll get everyone gathered."

"Thank you."

Leaving the woman to her garden, he headed across the lawns for the infirmary.

Poking his head in he found Andrea and Michonne chatting idly, Michonne keeping her eyes on the world outside the window.

"Group meeting in ten," he announced.

Michonne eyed him stoically. "I'm not a part of your group," she replied.

"Group meeting," he insisted, leaving the building before she could argue.

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

Moving to take a place beside Rick, Daryl eyed everyone gathered.

Michonne had managed to get Andrea into an old wheelchair from the infirmary enough to get her outside into the sunshine.

Twenty of them gathered on the soft lawns, Carl, Beth and Annie keeping watch for them made their population twenty-three, an even twenty-four if Daryl counted that damned dog that nearly got them killed in the church they had set fire to.

Twenty of them waited for Rick to start.

Rick nodded to Merle and began. "Merle came up with a way of taking out the threat of Woodbury without exterminating all of them."

Of course Glenn took issue with this.

"Can we trust him?" The Korean-American man asked.

"Glenn, I know he's the reason we're in this mess. If he didn't take you and Maggie, we would still be in the prison in blissful happiness. But his plan is a good one and if Daryl trusts him then I trust him too." Rick said. "It's better than the alternative of killing innocents."

Daryl eyed Glenn. The thing was the young man was smart, he may be pissed at Merle, but he also knew to take things easy. To keep a cool head when it came to the bigger picture.

"What's the plan?" Glenn asked.

"Merle?" Rick gave the oldest Dixon the floor.

As Merle explained the plan, Daryl kept his eyes on the Cajun. His grey eyes were narrowed, his mind was working.

"What you're asking is for someone the Governor hasn't met yet to offer their life for your group?" Tyreese's man demanded.

"We won't let someone just go in to die," Rick argued. "We're going to take every precaution to get that man out before they can suffer any unjust damage."

"How?" Michonne broke in. "If you send someone in to get your man back, there's a risk of Woodbury finding out about the rescue and the war will go on."

"Well, get the man out." Rick insisted. "We're not sending anyone to their death."

"I'll do it." The Lieutenant offered.

"There's no way on God's green earth that's happening," the Mother Superior stated firmly.

Quirking a brow so quickly that Daryl almost missed it, the Cajun turned curious eyes on the woman.

"Honey, I have been far too lenient with your need to help people, but I'm drawing a line at losing you." She said.

"I'll be fine. If Rick says he'll get me out, he'll get me out. I trust him to keep his word."

Rick nodded. "Thank you."

"No." The woman insisted.

"I'll be fine. I was trained to withstand enemy torture, I'm probably the best choice out of everyone here." The Lieutenant stated. "I can get in and I'll get out."

Touching a hand to her collar, the nun shook her head. "No. Absolutely not."

Shifting on his feet, Daryl wished that someone else would volunteer. It was cruel to wish it, but he wasn't completely confident in Rick's plan to get their 'straggler' out. He felt even worse when the nun's strong, confident features broke and little, as she glanced around the group for someone to protest with her. Someone to back her up.

Her eyes became glassy when she realized she was on her own and a hopeless look came to her.

Daryl winced and glanced sideways at Rick.

"You can't ask him to do this, Rick." Carol's soft voice broke in. "I wouldn't want you to ask this of anyone in our group, we can't ask the sisters to lose the one man who stands between them and death at their gate."

Eyeing the woman who held Judith in her arms, Daryl was never more proud of her then the moment she stepped up to back a woman who was fighting a losing battle.

He still knew it wouldn't make a difference though. The Lieutenant willingly offered his services and everyone knew it was for the greater good.

Daryl looked at Rick at his side.

The man's flesh tone didn't look too healthy again, but his face was set in steel, his eyes hard.

Deep down he knew Rick was taking it just as hard as he was.

The Lieutenant cleared his throat and offered them a crooked grin. "So, when do you need me?"

******..-~-..**

* * *

**********..-~-..**

Storming into the garden shed later that night after his shift at the gate, Daryl was expecting to find the dumb assed Cajun or his brother.

He wasn't prepared to find Carol curled up in his nest, sleeping peacefully like a cat.

Kneeling he watched her sleep for a moment, awed by how beautiful she was.

She wasn't a stunning beauty like Andrea, or exotic and mysterious like Michonne, she had none of the sultry looks of the Mother Superior or the cute country bumpkin looks of Maggie, but she was beautiful nonetheless.

Carol was beautiful in the way a woman who radiated it from her very soul was beautiful, she was the prettiest thing he ever saw and she was his.

This thought alone made him smile a little. He never had a woman who was completely his before.

Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes a crack and smiled.

Nope, he decided, she didn't belong to him, she wasn't his at all. _He_ belonged to _her_. And he was completely okay with that.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked a little gruffly.

With a small grin, she nuzzled deeper into the blankets and rags he had been using as bedding. "Well, I figured if I'm yours, then I sleep where my man sleeps."

He looked around, amused by her words. "Yeah, well, no woman of mine is going to sleep on the ground if I can help it."

She laughed softly. "I'm not delicate. Now get into bed, I've been waiting for hours."

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, slipping into the nest beside her, putting his body between hers and the door. If something ever came in, it would have to tear him to shreds before he let it get at her.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Aimer** – To like, to love.


	40. Fais Do Do

**Again far too many lovely reviews from equally beautiful people to reply properly. But here's a highlight from the much beloved MollyMayhem84 - 'That's right, you've just been Dale Horvarth'd. His eyebrows of judgement are judging you right now.'**

**Ha-fucking-ha! That was perhaps the funniest thing I've read all week. Congrats.  
**

**Anyways, this chapter should be much better edited, as I'm wide awake and you know sharper and not at all lazy and stuff.  
**

**Also, if you follow me on tumblr, I posted the link to a video that plays that delightful lullaby from this chapter there on my blog...so...if you're curious at all.**

**HUGE, HUGE, HUGE! Thanks to Satory for correcting me on some of the translation confusion with the lullaby. Thanks for that!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty: Fais Do Do**

****The Lieutenant****

He had been expressly forbidden from lingering in her doorway, so he had let himself into her room that night after he finished up with Merle and the storage shed.

She hadn't said anything to him after the group meeting, just walked off, arms wrapped around her ribcage, face solemn.

Tonight she lay with the Little Missy in a pre-emptive strike to ward off the night terrors, which served his purposes better. He could watch over both of them without having to make the rounds between their rooms.

Easing onto the floor in front of her chifferobe, he stuck his long legs out and crossed them at the ankles, eyes on the two forms in the cot as he leaned his head back against the wooden bureau behind him.

He wasn't delusional to have absolutely no fear in the face of his upcoming task. No man was fearless unless he was severely mentally disturbed. But he felt prepared for it. It wasn't just the training, but the things he was doing it for. The people.

Not just his people or Rick's people, but everyone within the convent walls.

They had become more to him than words could describe.

And he? He was just some low class Cajun boy who came from a broken home where he was raised by an old grandmother he worshiped, even while she never seemed to have the time for him or spat out insults at him like he was just some obstacle in her carefree life instead of a grandson.

Sure he talked about her like the sun rose and set on the woman, but he wasn't so uneducated as to be blind to her harsh criticisms of him.

He was just the bastard son of a rapist who never mattered much to anyone.

This place and the people who inhabited it were the closest things he had ever had to family.

Maybe it was the tales he heard from Glenn about the Governor's treatment of women that had him so eager to prevent his women from ever having to deal with the man or maybe it was the genuine fear he heard in Merle's voice when he spoke of the man or the way Michonne seemed prepared to do anything to take the man out or the way the prison was after he and Daryl went there that first day, or any of the above, that had him ready to give himself so willingly for the cause.

Didn't mean he was going to just roll over and die. He'd fight his way tooth and nail to get back to his people. They needed protecting and he needed to protect, it was win-win for all sides.

Reaching for the ring that was still stuck on his pinkie finger, he tugged at it idly, eyeing the cot at his right side.

In his hand the ring slipped off his finger easily and for a moment the Cajun peered through the dark at the golden band that now lay in his palm.

Well, that was one less thing to worry about.

On the cot Annie began to squirm and whimper, shifting in her sleep, at her feet Boo lifted her head and scuttled over the girl to lay at her head.

Watching the cot with cautious eyes, the Lieutenant spied the Old Missy tightening her grip on the girl and knew the whimpering had woken the woman.

Keeping silent in the hopes to go unnoticed, he watched as the woman smoothed Annie's furrowed brow, humming softly to her a very familiar song.

The Cajun smiled softly and slipped the ring into his pants pocket.

Annie kicked out in a panic, the humming not as effective as the real thing, so he quietly began to sing for her benefit, startling the nun.

"_C'est la petite poule blanche, qui a pondu dans la branche, un petit coco pour mon bébé fais do do. Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho. C'est la petite poule grise, qui a pondu dans l'église, un petit coco pour mon bébé fais do do. Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho_."

He wasn't sure if it was his singing that always seemed to help the girl, he didn't have that smooth of a voice, but he liked to think it was just his presence. That he scared away the things that haunted Annie in the night.

Carefully arranging herself, the nun moved onto the other side of Annie, patting the bed for him to join them as the girl seemed to still be in a state of discontent with her dreams.

Still singing, the Cajun carefully moved across the dark floor and climbed up onto the small cot, barely able to perch on the edge, but managing to get himself under the wee boo enough to hold her against him.

"_C'est la petite poule noire, qui a pondu dans l'armoire, un petit coco pour mon bébé fais do do. Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho. C'est la petite poule caille, qui a pondu dans la paille, un petit coco pour mon bébé fais do do. Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho. Fais do do, fais do do, dans les bras de ton Papa. Fais do do, fais do do dans les bras de ta Maman_."

By the time he sang the song through the third time, Annie's struggles had stilled and she was deep asleep against his chest.

Brushing hair out of Annie's eyes, the Cajun smiled down at her sweet little face. He had never given children any thought before he arrived at the convent, but when Annie showed up, big green eyes with the flecks of gold in them wide and haunted by shadows, he had taken her into his arms without hesitation.

He had never really had a male role model in his life, his _Papere_ having died when he was still young, but he did his best with Annie. The theory being if she was laughing and happy, then he was doing something right with her.

Granted the Old Missy may have been right when she said he spoiled her, but she had a rough time and he didn't think it was necessary to make it rougher on her by denying her a quick game of hide and seek or tag.

Glancing over at the nun, he found her quietly observing him and Annie and flashed her a small grin. "I suppose you're mad at me," he whispered.

"All around? No. I'm disappointed in your decision to go to Woodbury today, tonight I am very mad. You shouldn't be in my room." She stated.

He pressed Annie in closer to him and beamed. "Well, things happen that are out of our control at times." He said.

"I'm very serious, Lieutenant." She stated. "You shouldn't be in here."

"You're the one who invited me onto the bed," he teased.

She quirked a single, stern brow at his cavalier attitude, effectively killing the Lieutenant's smug grin with a mere look and removing all good humour from the situation. Such was the power of the woman over him.

"Do you know what's going to happen to that girl if she loses you?"

"She won't."

"You don't know you'll come back to us."

"You don't know you'll lose me."

Pulling Boo to her, the nun pressed her face into the dog's fur like a lost little girl, falling stubbornly quiet.

Lafayette smiled at her. "I don't know what'll happen," he said. "The future's always unclear, but with so much to come back to, don't you think I have a better chance of giving it my all?"

"Don't feed me tired old clichés, honey." The nun stated firmly. "I'm not twelve and I don't buy them for one minute. You're a selfish, cruel man if you think you can just leave us behind while you go and fight a war you have no part in!" She hissed. "That girl will fall back three steps from where we got her! She will lose another person she loves, someone who won't come back. That will destroy her for life."

"Selfish?" The Cajun repeated, startled that the woman seemed to think that was what he was.

At that moment Annie woke up enough to rub at her eyes and mutter a sleepy, "daddy, I need some water."

Underneath the girl the Cajun soldier tensed, eyes snapping over to the nun at his side.

Ex-nun, he supposed, as he found her eyeing him with a grim shadow hanging over her.

Propping herself up carefully, the Little Missy eyed the Lieutenant with bleary hazel eyes.

"Lieutenant?" She mumbled. "You're not supposed to be in here."

He offered her a somewhat forced grin. "I won't tell if you won't."

Annie beamed and dropped back against his chest, face turning to catch the Old Missy at their side. "Hi," she greeted.

The woman reached out and brushed Annie's long dark hair off her face. "Hello, honey. You need some water?"

"Um-hm, why is the Lieutenant in bed with us? Can he stay?" The little girl asked.

Smiling at how she made him sound like some kind of stray that wandered in from the cold, the Cajun leaned down a pressed a kiss to Annie's temple.

"Of course he can, sweetheart." The woman said. "But just for tonight."

"Forever," Annie argued.

"Just tonight."

"But Sister – Sister Mary Agnes says if a man shares your bed he's your husband," the wee boo protested, propping herself up again to eye the woman beside them with a stern face.

The Lieutenant cupped his hands over Annie's cheeks with a grin. "Quiet, Boo, you're going to spook her."

"Alright, that's it. Get out of my bed, Lieutenant." The woman stated firmly.

The little girl's eyes widened. "I'm sorry," she flopped back on top of the Cajun. "I'm sorry. Don't make him go."

A small smile came to the ex-nun's face and she relented, "well, I suppose just for tonight, he can stay."

Annie beamed. "Okay."

Leaning over, the woman kissed her quickly. "I'll go get you some water."

"Thank you."

As the nun scooted off the foot of the bed in her plain white nightgown, the soldier chuckled as she used the bottom foot of his legs that hung over the edge to push herself up with.

He was entirely too tall for the small cot and she was probably just subtly pointing that out to him.

"Lieutenant?" Annie asked after the woman left the room.

"Hm?"

"Are you going to marry Mother Mena because you're in her bed?"

The Lieutenant smirked. "How are babies made again?"

"Mouth kissing."

"Are you sure it's not hugging?"

"Uh-uh, because then everybody would have a baby."

"Ah, that makes so much sense."

**********..-~-..**

* * *

**************..-~-..**

He had gotten up before the sun rose, hoping to catch both Daryl and Carol before the Dixon boy got up out of his nest for the day.

Knocking loudly on the door to the garden shed, he waited patiently for the youngest Dixon to answer the door.

"What the hell are you knocking for?" He demanded, disappearing back inside the shed, leaving the door open for the Cajun.

"Didn't want to interrupt anything," the Lieutenant replied, stepping inside.

Carol smiled shyly up at him from Daryl's nest.

The Lieutenant placed a fake disturbed look on his face. "No, this won't do." He protested loudly. "I can't have you dragging women into my garden shed!"

"What?" Daryl snarled.

"Sorry, rules are rules, no women in the barracks," the Cajun stated. "Get your stuff, both of you and get out."

Climbing to her feet, Carol touched a hand to the wooden rose at the base of her throat. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Well, I do. Women stay in the dorms and us men get the shed, it's just how things are." He pointed at the door, trying hard to look menacing. "Now get out!"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the soldier. "What are you up to, Fay?"

"Nothing, just tired of you breaking the rules and regulations of the barracks," he replied.

Gathering up their things, the Cajun folded his arms and tried hard to look stern. He had worked all yesterday with Merle to shift things around in the storage shed enough for them to move two cots out of the dorms into the little building, shoving them together to make a decent sized bed and a nice little home for Daryl and Carol to get some privacy. Their work had nearly been completed when Merle spied Daryl heading towards the storage shed with the leftover cinder blocks and wheel barrel, so they intercepted him until they could finish.

The final touch had been the 'no trespassing' sign that the Cajun had hung on the door for the two to get some privacy and the wall they made with the leftover blocks to give the bed that added privacy from the door.

Now he just had to officially kick Daryl out of the garden shed.

Moving to the door, the Cajun toed it open for the two leaving and sighed heavily. "Try the storage shed," he suggested to Daryl. "I hear it's a nice little set up in there."

Daryl eyed him quietly.

Winking at Carol, the Cajun smiled a little at her. "Nice and private."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Fais do do** – Go to sleep

**The Cajun Lullaby (The White Hen?)**

(To the best of my translation skills…which are admittedly minimal, and thanks to vague translations on various sites, I loosely translated the lullaby. If anyone can translate this mysterious but lovely song better, please let me know! I'd love to have something halfway correct in translation for this).

It is the small white hen,

which laid on the branch,

a small egg for my baby who sleeps.

Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho.

It is the small gray hen,

which laid in the church,

a small egg for my baby who sleeps.

Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho.

It is the small black hen,

which laid in the cupboard,

a small egg for my baby who sleeps.

Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho.

It is the small quail hen,

which laid in the straw,

a small egg for my baby who sleeps.

Dodiché, dodiché, dodiché, dodicho.

Go to sleep, go to sleep, in the arms of your Dad.

Go to sleep, go to sleep, in the arms of your Mom.


	41. Nique

**HRGHfan35 - I don't blame you for being pissed about that cut scene. They like to cut all the best scenes...dirty rotten dogs (to quote the Old Missy).**

**Emerald Kitten - I like the idea of having people living in little sheds on the convent property...they should build more...to accommodate more people...just in case. ^_^**

**JackAndHoney - There is no CARYL in this chapter...ever...at all...nothing...turn back...go home...(I like this emphasizing things with all caps...it's like yelling, but not). Thanks for the review and enjoy the chapter!**

**skittletitz - Haha, have you ever shipped someone you know irl? It's pretty hilarious...I was just thinking of how it'd be for the Merle and the Lt. Getting together, talking about how Daryl and Carol are just MEANT to be together. Bitching at life when things happen and they don't get their Caryl scene that week...**

**MollyMayhem84 - Aw, it's sweet of you to say that. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much. ^_^! *wary of the Dalebrows***

**Lilone1776 - I like to think that when the Old Missy gets mad at the Lt. it's a form of flirtation on her side...**

**Satory - Thank you so much for clearing up some confusion on the translation in the last chapter, I was thinking coconut was a weird thing for a hen to lay, but just thought it was purposely ridiculous. And don't worry about your Frenglish, I'm Canadian, so I'm used to it (ah, the old CBC channel three where you watched late night movies and caught half of the plot because you only understood a certain amount of French)...**

**rebecca taylor - Thank you! ^_^**

**Supfan - I think they need a private place with so many people hanging around...everywhere...could you imagine trying to get your swerve on with people everywhere? Especially if you're skittish like Daryl?**

**GG - I like to think that while she protests a lot, the Old Missy just sort of expects the Lt. to disobey her orders and let himself in...especially where the Little Missy is concerned. Therefore, she wasn't at all startled or surprised he was in the room.**

**Brazen Hussy - Ah, spicy! (BTW, head's up, you'll enjoy the next chapter immensely).**

**MarionArnold - Thank you! And thanks for the other reviews! Glad to see you're caught up again! ^_^**

**carylfan - It didn't happen...yet...  
**

**Axelrocks - I know, the translation is pretty rough, but all I had to go on was the vocals of the video link and some French lyrics for the lullaby that didn't match the video exactly...good thing I know some French as well (not nearly enough to be cool like you, but enough to be able to maintain my Canadian citizenship).**

**Surplus Imagination - Ehehehe...confusing people with multiple names is my specialty. j/k No, if you notice, I do like to give people pet names (a habit especially prevalent in the Lt.) but also I tend to like to call people different names during different moments to heighten the mood...no, that's a lie...and sounds pretentious. I just like names! *crazy eyes***

**There is no Caryl in this chapter whatsoever...it is a chapter about Andrea going on about how tough she is and how much of a bad ass she is and her tiny white thong and how comfortable that is to fight walkers in. Repeat. No Caryl.**

**...well maybe a little.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One: Nique**

****Carol****

The storage shed was as clean as she supposed a shed could be, and filled with broken icons and pieces of stained glass that must have popped out of the church windows throughout the past, littering the heavy duty workbenches that lined the walls. Where projects that seemed like the nuns had at one time worked diligently on repairing, had long since been abandoned.

In the corner furthest from the door behind a half wall made of cinder blocks was two cots that had been pushed together and made up with military precision. Someone had lit a few candles to give them a proper view of their new home in the darkness before dawn.

She turned a bright grin on Daryl who stood behind her with his things. "Looks like he made the effort to make this place homey at least," she said.

"Candles make it kind of romantic," he teased.

Laughing, Carol made her way through the dressmaker dolls that held habits in various states of mending, heading for the bed.

"More romantic then I thought," he added, watching her perch on the bed, testing the bounce.

She laughed again and touched the bed at her side. "Think this is the comfiest bed I've been on in a while."

Setting his things down, he removed his crossbow last, placing it on a workbench beside a broken bird bath that doubled as an icon of Saint Francis of Assisi and approached her.

Slowly he eased down beside her on the bed and bent over his knees, clasping his hands together.

Carol smiled at him gently. For as fearless as he seemed, Daryl was often just like a little boy when it came to social situations. Like he didn't really know how to act during certain situations, so he just kind of shut down.

Reaching over she took his hands in hers and leaned against him shoulder to shoulder.

"Too much for you?" She asked.

He looked at her, before shaking his head. "Naw."

"I can go back to the dorms if you want," she offered.

"Hell no," he stated. "You're best here with me."

"It's still early," she suggested. "We could get some more sleep in before you have to set out with Rick."

"Do you like it here?" He asked suddenly. "At the convent?"

Easing back further onto the bed, she scooted until her back hit the wall. "I don't know," she admitted. "I love it, but…it feels like the farm. Some days I feel like I'm just waiting for this good thing to go to ruin. I don't want to get too attached."

"So you want to go back to the prison?" He urged.

"I want to finally feel like the place I grow to love won't be ripped away from me," she said. "I know I shouldn't be so ungrateful for what I do have, but I want a home. Stop running, stop living like animals in hiding."

Crawling towards her, Daryl pressed against her right side, his hand tentatively resting against her cheek.

"Okay," he whispered.

He didn't have to say anything else. Carol knew that tone of voice. That was his 'everything-will-be-okay-because-I say-it-will-be' tone. The same tone he used to reassure her about Sophia, the same tone he used in the cold winter months when they were near starving and freezing and downright miserable.

She loved that tone. It meant more to her than any words of comfort anyone could ever find to assure her. Because when he said it, it may not have been true, it may not have been definite, but it meant that he would do everything in his power to make things happen.

Wrapping her arms around him tightly, she nudged her head under his chin and listened to his heart. Months ago she wouldn't have even managed to get him on the same bed, let alone in the same room with her alone, but now that he was relaxing in her presence, now that she had him to herself, she wanted to abuse the privilege as much as possible.

There weren't even proper words she could find to let him know just how much he made her feel secure, she couldn't formulate anything that would get across to him how much he meant to her, not just because of his undying efforts to find Sophia, not because of the way he rode up on his bike and whisked her to safety in the nick of time, not because of how day after day he made sure her and everyone else had food in their stomachs, not just because his was the face that peered down at her in that dark room where she thought she'd die, but because out of everything he had ever done for any of them, he still didn't think he was worth anything.

She wanted to cling to him and never let go.

"You know we have about three hours before sunrise," she said with a cheeky grin. "All this candlelight, a bed and a shed to ourselves…"

Sometimes she liked to place ideas in front of him just to see his reaction, to test the waters by leaving the rest to him. She wasn't some hormonal teenager, to be sure, she didn't need to have sex all day every day, but it had been so long and the man in bed with her was so handsome, she wasn't averse to the idea at all.

Pulling away from her, Daryl slid to the end of the bed quietly.

Carol watched in a slight panic as he made for the door, but relaxed when he didn't take up his crossbow. He never went anywhere without it.

Watching as he used the simple hook and eyescrew lock the Cajun must have installed on their door, she grinned and flopped onto her back on the bed.

Daryl returned to stand at the foot of the bed, hand rubbing nervously at his chin scruff. Slowly he eased onto the bed and stooped to remove his boots.

Crawling up behind him, Carol stuck her arms under his and wrapped him in a hug, leaning over his shoulder to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

He tensed for a moment.

She realized he probably didn't like people coming at him from behind, in her fervour to climb back into his arms, she had jumped the gun.

"Sorry," she said.

He wrapped his hands around hers on his chest to prevent her from pulling away. "It's okay."

Figuring she must be getting old, because by this time as a teenager she would have been halfway through her second round, she smiled and leaned her cheek against his back, just enjoying holding him tight.

She could recall another time when she lay against his back, when they were fleeing the farm, leaving behind the memories of Sophia and Dale and Shane, leaving behind the RV and the summer kitchen where Daryl had made his camp.

This time was much more optimistic. Sure they still didn't know just where they were heading, whether their plans for Woodbury and the Governor's assassination would be successful, but she didn't care, somehow this go around felt different, it felt less like a funeral march and more like a country stroll.

Daryl's large hands pulled hers away from his chest and he held them out for a moment, before carefully leaning his face down to rest his cheeks in her palms.

Beaming, she crossed her arms to properly hold his face from behind, leaning up to press a kiss to the nape of his neck.

"You need a haircut," she murmured.

"Good luck holding me down to do it," he remarked.

Pulling him backwards, she flipped around him to straddle his waist, pressing her hands against his chest with a grin. "I think I could do it." She teased, sliding her hands just under the open collar of his shirt. She could feel the scars of his hard life beneath her fingertips, but it only softened the look in her eyes, not her resolve to keep the man in her bed and in her arms. Ducking her head, she caught his mouth with hers, finding him just as tense as he was the other night, but just like the night prior it took a little coaxing, before he relaxed enough to return the kiss.

His rough hands slid up her bare arms, circling around her shoulders and pulling her down against him.

**********..-~-..**

* * *

**************..-~-..**

Resting his head on her bare chest, Daryl idly rubbed his scruff across her breast almost playfully.

Running her hands through his hair, Carol was sizing it up for the trimming she had planned. If he thought distracting her with sex was going to get her off topic about his hair cut, he had another thing coming.

He wasn't the smoothest partner a woman could ever have, but she had only ever had two of them other than the hunter in her arms and one of them was Ed and the other was a teenage boy who fumbled more with her bra than with her body. What Daryl lacked in grace and charm in the bed he made up for in passion and intensity. Besides, she was always the pragmatic thinker that when it came to sex. It wasn't whether you enjoyed it, but who you were with at the time. She'd rather a bad lover than a nasty man in her life. Not to say Daryl was bad, just just lacked confidence at times.

Trailing her hand down from his hair, she idly stroked the scars of his back.

He looked up at her with that furtive, boyish look he sometimes got and she removed her hand from his scars to playfully tug at the grey patch of hair on his chin.

Dropping his head, she could feel him burying a shy smile in her ribs and she laughed softly.

"I know, I'm getting old," he muttered into her flesh.

"If you're old then I must be ancient," she replied. Her hair had started turning grey about five years into her marriage with Ed and by the time the world went to hell it was nearly completely pewter. He never let her dye it, said only harlots and whores dyed their hair. Deep down she always figured he didn't want her to pretty herself up and run off with a better man.

He settled his chin on her sternum lightly and eyed her. "Not much older than me."

"How do you know?" She asked.

He gave her that tiny little roguish smirk that he sometimes acquired at the corner of his mouth where his beauty mark sat. "The first night at the quarry Merle ripped off your wallet. I took a look inside it before I tucked it back into your bags."

"How'd I look on my driver's license?" She asked.

"Like an angel," he replied with a slowly growing grin.

She threw her head back on the pillow and laughed. "Smart man!"

"I may not have much experience with women, but I'm not completely stupid," he shot back. Reaching up he played with a spit curl that was forming at her temple. "I liked your long curly hair."

She beamed. "Me too."

Daryl eyed her quietly. She knew that look. He was looking right through her. He knew exactly the reason why she cut her hair so short in the first place, why she missed her long, beautiful locks. "You gonna to grow it back?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah."

Re-energized, Daryl crawled over top of her to press his lips against hers.

It was the first time he initiated a kiss.

When he pulled away, he beamed at her proudly, before dropping his head to hide the grin. Rolling onto his back, he settled beside her and they eyed the light that was beginning to come in through the small window's black makeshift curtains.

If they were going to stay there, then she'd need to find better curtains, the black one's just made everything seem draped in funeral finery.

Scooping her into his arms, Daryl pulled Carol against him and buried his nose in her hair. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, before withdrawing.

"I'd better get up," he said.

She yawned and reluctantly followed him out of the little nest they had made, looking forward to the next night they both had off from their duties when she could curl up beside him again.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Nique** - Nest


	42. Haria

**MollyMayhem84 -** **Thank you! It's lovely to have such a short, but sweet review! ^_^**

**rebecca taylor - ^_^!**

**skittletitz - I seriously need to write a scene in where they do that...**

**HGRHfan35 - I love his grey scruff patch too...to be honest, greying men are kind of sexy to me.**

**Brazen Hussy - Hey, we all have our opinions, my friend! ^_^ I'm not going to hound anyone for the characters they like and dislike.**

**JackAndHoney - I know! How dare I not class this story up with some hardcore smut! ^_^ TBH, what I find more important to any piece that involves sex is the afterglow as it gives one a chance to gather and collect their thoughts after such an emotional tide. But hey, some people are sex minded people and some are fluff minded. Thanks for the review!**

**peonies01 - Aw, thank you so much for your appreciation. I don't think people realize how hard it is to put out chapters as regularly as I have been doing. I appreciate your kindness, I really do. (And I can't speak for other fanfic writers, but for me I really, honestly appreciate the reviewers like you).**

**Supfan - Thank you! I'm glad it pleased you! ^_^**

**Axelrocks - Mah, you're too kind as always! May good things come your way, my friend!**

**Surplus Imagination - Left out kissing parts? Gah! Damn me for skipping sex! How dare I?! ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**spygrrl99 - Daryl's a classic provider in the most ancient sense. He protects, he feeds, and he's always on the lookout for danger around those he loves. I love the idea of him trying to make Carol happy in anyway he can. He's just too adorable sometimes...**

**GG - Thank you...I really appreciate your reviews, you never have anything negative to say, you're just such a kind person. Thanks for always being you!**

**Lilone1776 - I think you're on the same brainwave as me. It was my entire reason for not writing heavily detailed sex (other than the fact I'm horrible at smut), I honestly think their sex should be private even to us...it makes their relationship sweeter to me. Thanks for your review, it made me feel better about my decision not to attempt to write smut for them, to give them their privacy. I appreciate every review you've ever given me. ^_^**

**Well, what can I say? You're all beautiful people and this is a chapter full of Merle being a troublemaker...so...enjoy! It's admittedly a lighter chapter...more fun than anything.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two: Haria**

****Merle****

Sitting on the front steps of the church holding a book he found tucked behind the counter in the lumberyard building to his nose, he read.

Or he tried to read, at least.

The day he realized he needed reading glasses was the day after the world went to hell and he couldn't find a good pair for love nor money.

"The bear, huh?"

Glancing up at the priest who was wandering by, Merle scoffed. "That was Tolstoy, this is Dostoevsky."

"What was his nickname then?"

"Fucked if I know. Ruski who wrote long assed books?" Closing the book, Merle eyed the priest. "What's up, padre?"

"Heading for a good long sleep, maybe do some reflecting in the church."

"Reflecting or genuflecting?"

Easing onto the steps at his side, Father O'Rourke eyed Merle quietly. "You're a smart man, Merle."

"Are you asking or telling?" Easing back on the steps, Merle stuck his legs out and grinned.

"I'm telling."

"Not so smart, just read a lot. Nothing else to fucking do and books are free…well anything's free these days, I guess, if you got a big enough gun and the balls to back it."

"Let me ask you something, then."

"If you have to."

"Why don't you get along with people? You're smart enough to know you piss them off, why do it?"

"What? Glenn and Michonne? Fuck 'em."

"Rick, Maggie, your brother…"

"Fuck 'em too."

"Why?"

"Because I hate Asians and blacks…Brits, Serbians, insurance brokers, bankers, lawyers, Croatians, Canadians, most Samoans, Hawaiians, Mexicans, the French, the Spanish, cops, democrats, Alaskans, American Indians, East Indians, the Welsh, actors, Koala bears, Cubans, Peruvians, Australians, the Scottish, the Northern Irish, Klingons, women, hippies, NRA nutcases, the Swedish, the Dutch, certain tribes in South America, the gays, men and ninety-eight percent of old people."

"How do you feel about priests?"

"Fuck 'em too. And double fuck with hot pokers the ones who touch kids."

"You ever read the bible, Merle?"

"Not like you do, I'm sure."

"Leviticus 19:17. Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thine heart: thou shalt in any wise rebuke thy neighbour, and not suffer sin upon him."

"Deuteronomy 16:22, God hates too, padre."

"God hating pillars is a far cry from hating his brothers."

"Deuteronomy 9:28, then. Lest the land whence thou broughtest us out say, Because the Lord was not able to bring them into the land which he promised them, and because he hated them, he hath brought them out to slay them in the wilderness."

"We can sit out here all day trading bible verses, if you want, Merle, or we could get down to the point of this conversation. Why do you pick fights with everyone?"

"Boredom? It's fun? I'm an asshole? Pick any or all."

"Antisocial disorder."

"Could be. The army would have diagnosed it, but…could have developed out of some long repressed childhood memories, I suppose."

"You were in the army?"

"Long time ago. Fuck the army too."

"You are certainly painting a broad and complex picture of yourself," the priest said.

Eyeing the man beside him, Merle scowled a little. "You ain't one of them boy touching priests, are you, padre?"

"Trying to pick a fight, Merle?"

"Bored." Sniffing, Merle pushed to his feet and dropped the book into Father O'Rourke's lap. "Go on and read it, padre. I can't see a fucking word anymore…getting old and useless…"

**********..-~-..**

* * *

**************..-~-..**

He was sniffing around Sister Joan as they stood on the wall later that day, eyeing the blonde nun who was perhaps not as attractive as some of his more infamous conquests, but he wasn't a spring chicken, so there was no room to complain.

Besides her slightly bucked teeth were growing on him and those dimples of hers were kind of adorable.

"See the little man over there?" He motioned to where Carl stood on the wall across the lawns from them, watching inwards while Annie and her dog played about on a small stool she had set up with some of the nuns' old dishware. "He's been watching that girl since he got here."

"He's very mature for his age," she replied. "I think it's sweet."

"You're a nun, everything is supposed to be sinful to you," Merle stated.

Chuckling, the woman shifted the rifle in her hands. "If I were an overly sensitive nun I wouldn't ever be caught dead anywhere near the likes of you, Mr. Dixon."

Beaming at her, Merle eyed the surrounding woods for threats as they continued to walk the wall.

"Because deep down you know you can't resist ol' Merle, huh?"

She laughed. "Well, I'm currently married, Mr. Dixon, you may be barking up the wrong tree."

"Yeah, but can your husband bench press you?"

"Well, maybe, I know he's turned water into wine at times…"

"Can't compete with that."

"Besides, I doubt you're that strong," she added.

"Wanna find out?"

"Sure, why don't you go and find a nice place to get ready and I'll stop by when I'm finished being a nun."

"Soon, right?"

"A lifetime."

Tsking, Merle stopped dead in his tracks. "I bet we could sneak in a quickie behind the infirmary where no one'll be the wiser."

"A quickie? Good Lord! You must think I'm some Jezebel!" She turned on him with a mock stern look.

"Well, the feelings will linger long after we're apart," he replied.

She laughed again. "You must think you're God's gift, Mr. Dixon!"

"I've been told I'm an _unholy_ terror."

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Dixon, why don't you head on over to the church and I'll come in when my shift's over—"

"I already heard the kneeling prayer joke, it wasn't funny then and it's not going to get a different response now."

"Oh, well, then we have nothing more to say to each other," the woman stated and moved off along the top of the wall, graceful as a cat.

Merle watched her go, enjoying the view.

Turning he found an entire audience of women watching him from the garden plot below the wall and he grinned.

"Ladies, garden looks good."

"Merle Dixon, you leave that poor woman alone," the head nun said. "We can't have you sniffing around a Sister of this convent like some kind of predatory wolf."

"Tell that to that Cajun of yours," he replied, wandering off in the opposite direction that Sister Joan had gone, heading for Carl on the wall. "Heard he spent the night in your bed…"

Behind him he heard the woman gasp and grinned. Sometimes the fucking gossip grapevine that encircled the convent was useful.

**********..-~-..**

* * *

**************..-~-..**

Hopping off the wall an hour later, he approached the Cajun who was cleaning a few rabbits he had caught for the night's meal.

The soldier seemed to have been paused in the midst of his work, watching the women as they sat around in a circle mending clothes on the lawns, chattering away. In particular he seemed to be eyeing an area near Carol and Grace as the two women seemed inseparable lately.

"I don't get them myself," Merle greeted, flopping onto the grass at the soldier's side.

Drawing his eyes from the women, the Lieutenant bowed them back to his work.

"But they sure are great to watch, especially when they get together in groups and giggle," Merle went on.

Quietly slicing away the skin of the rabbit, the Cajun seemed drawn to his work. Quiet and introverted, something that wasn't like him.

"So, you're really planning on going through with this plot, huh? Stepping into the mouth of the beast?" Squinting at the soldier, Merle couldn't help but taunt, "they're going to kill you, you know that, right?"

"You put so little faith in me, _Texian_."

"No, I've thought about this. You're not so good at close quarters combat. They're going to kill you."

The Cajun grinned at his work. "Are you basing this on that takedown I made of you? Because as I recall I won that bout."

"You got lucky and took me by surprise."

"Sure I did."

They fell silent, taking in the rare serenity of the afternoon, Annie and her dog playing nearby, the women laughing and chatting not too much further than that, people idly strolling on the wall, keeping watch.

Merle couldn't remember a day when he had been sober enough, or the biters had been so few and far between that he could actually enjoy just sitting around like he used to.

If he had to be completely honest with himself, he liked it at the convent far more than he ever did at Woodbury. With Woodbury there was always that darker side that he was privy to, while the others went about their perfect life behind the walls, he went out and did the dirty work that ensured they maintained that high class, shit-don't-stink lifestyle.

At the convent what you saw was what you got. The Cajun would always be a weird fucker, the nuns prudish and almost matronly, the priest always willing to sit down and have a chat, despite Merle pushing for a fight half the time.

He couldn't imagine the place being as comforting as it felt without the soldier.

And that was what it all boiled down to.

Merle actually liked the marine. Go figure.

Looking over at the man beside him, he found the Cajun's eyes on the women again and smirked, following his gaze. Maybe he wanted to pick a fight with him because he really was bored, or maybe it was because deep down he actually felt he'd miss the man when he was gone and wanted to part on bad terms to lessen the loss.

Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

"You eyeing my brother's lady friend, gator-baiter?"

The Cajun flushed and dropped his gaze quickly. "No."

"So, you're eyeing the nun with her, then."

"Merle, you ever hear the story of Èṣù?"

"Never."

"One day the Voodoo trickster God Èṣù walked into a village wearing a hat that was red on one side and black on the other, and after he left the villagers got into an argument over what colour his hat was. Those on the left side of the road said it was black and those on the right said it was red. They argued so hard and vehemently that eventually they came to blows and before night fell the entire village had killed each other in a rage. When Èṣù learned of this tragedy, he laughed and said 'bringing strife is my greatest joy'."

"So?"

"I'm not done yet. Now, there's an alternate version of the story, where Èṣù is shown as being merciful, he goes back before any real harm can take place and preaches to the villagers on how important perceptions can be. How they should always look at something from the point of view of their brothers, because sometimes things are not always what they seem. My point is, what kind of trickster do you intend to be? Merciful or cold?"

Merle scowled at the Cajun. "I think you're just trying to razzle dazzle me away from the topic of you and that nun."

"Cold."

"Call it what you will, rumour around the camp is you have sinful desires for that woman."

"Merle, we both know that you're the one who loves to spread half the gossip around here."

"I get bored," he admitted with a shrug. "So?"

"So? I think you're just rabble rousing. Look at this day, I've watched you all morning flitting around here, causing trouble and strife wherever you tread. Why? What's your purpose in making people uncomfortable and unhappy?"

Getting sick of having people always asking him to explain himself, Merle frowned. "Fuck you, coonass, that's why."

"Merle, I gave you fair warning about calling me that."

"Fuck that coonass grandmother of yours too." Grinning, Merle was pleased to find a button he could press with the easy-going Cajun.

"Don't talk about my _Mamere_ like that, either."

Finding the way the soldier shifted uncomfortably in his spot amusing, Merle pushed on. "Hell, maybe I'll crawl into that nun's bed tonight and give her what you can't. Squeeze her titties good and hard to give her a reason to squeal, huh?"

Perhaps he was just looking for a fight, or too wrapped up in his amusement over torturing the Cajun, but Merle didn't notice the way the man's spine straightened.

"Bet she'd be tight too, damn near rip my dick off when she comes." He went on with a smug grin.

Startled to find a six-four Cajun colliding into him, Merle grunted as he was knocked to the ground, collapsing under the soldier.

It was then that his vision went red and his daddy's rage clicked in.

Merle tried to get up to get at the Cajun, but the taller, shockingly stronger man pushed him back down, his blade managed to slash at the soldier's forearm as he went, giving him a chance to squirm out from under the man.

The two men lunged at each other, Merle getting a good left jab in, before he tackled the Lieutenant to the ground. His blade aimed at the other man, being held off by the Lieutenant's hands.

They rolled around beating the shit out of each other for what could have been hours for all Merle knew, it wasn't until Father O'Rourke and Tyreese moved in to hold both men back, that Merle realized just how much their little tiff had gathered attention.

Everyone from the convent seemed to have gathered around them, eyes panicked and wide.

Across from him, being restrained by Tyreese, the Cajun glowered, a look that was foreign to his normally kind features. If Merle were a weaker man it would actually be terrifying, as it was he was still in 'rage mode' and couldn't manage much more than a hard glare in return.

Licking his broken bottom lip, the Cajun panted, face softening. "I'm sorry I lost my temper." He said.

This wasn't at all what he was expecting, Merle's face actually dropped.

"I shouldn't have hit you, Merle," the Lieutenant went on.

Exchanging a confused glance with the priest who restrained him, Merle didn't know how to react. He was used to people hating him, holding grudges whenever he tried to start fights, but he wasn't used to almost immediate forgiveness.

Pulling out of Tyreese's grip, the Lieutenant stood about quietly, calmly.

Father O'Rourke slowly released Merle and the men milled about for a moment, before finally Carol spoke.

"Okay, everyone, let's get back to work."

As the others broke up, leaving Merle and the Lieutenant facing off quietly, being watched by the priest and Tyreese, the Cajun approached him slowly.

Merle tensed, ready for another fight.

Stopping about a foot from him, the Lieutenant angled his head to keep their conversation private.

"You were looking for a button and you found it, but my advice to you is; don't ever push it again."

Jesus. Merle actually felt a little bad. He was too shocked by the man's immediate forgiveness to hold any lingering anger like he normally would.

That had never happened in his life.

He didn't know if he should hit the man or apologize.

Okay, well he'd never fucking apologize, but goddamn he was close.

"I have to get this stitched up," the Lieutenant motioned to his arm. "You want to finish cleaning these for me?"

Merle couldn't find words, so he nodded.

"Okay, after we'll think about plotting some space for that cold root cellar idea of yours, yeah?"

Again Merle nodded, watching the Cajun move off, his brow wrinkled.

What the hell just happened? He got the fight he was looking for, but it didn't entertain him as much as it should have. He seriously had to stop trying to fight the Cajun, because the results were never as satisfactory as they should have been.

He kind of felt violated in a strange way.

"Hey, gator-baiter!" He called out after the Lieutenant.

The Cajun turned.

"We'll figure out a way to get you out of Woodbury alive," Merle said. "Can't be that hard."

The Lieutenant smiled his crooked grin. "Thanks, Merle."

Merle dipped his head quickly and turned away to finish cleaning the rabbits.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Haria** - Troublemaker


	43. Tracas

**Peta2 - Merle needs a friend. He also needs a woman...I'm working on it. Thanks for the review!**

**HGRHfan35 - I like to think of the Lt. as a kitten. He may be adorable, but he still has claws. ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - Oh no, dear. No hard feeling's at all...I hope I didn't come across as mean...I meant other people who push their hate on characters and their fans. Drat I meant no insult. *hugs* ^_^**

**Satory - I'm glad you enjoyed the religious aspect of that last chapter. I'm actually fond of that story about Esu...it's a good one.**

**skittletitz - Soooonn *creepy hand rubbing* Sooonn with the Caryl shipping in story...**

**peonies01 - Good heavens, over one hundred thousand words...you might get your wish for a never ending story...yikes. ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**rebecca taylor - Thank you, dear! Your reviews are always short, but sweet. ^_^**

**GG - Yeah, I think the Lt. figured that out. It's why he's putting Merle to work in the next few chapters...a bored Merle is a dangerous Merle.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Gosh, Merle is a hard character to get inside the head of. Mr. Rooker does a wonderful job, because Merle is just so complex. He's like the contradiction of a contradiction wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in the skin of a man.**

**SilverWolf84 - The show is pretty heavy at times. But I love it because of that, as you can tell even my serious chapters have to have some element of humour in them...but I think Merle once given a chance can be a halfway decent, even playful fellow.**

**Surplus Imagination - Oh, glad I could help. I'm certainly having a hard time cracking the nut that is Merle Dixon...but I'm glad I'm getting him across. I'm hoping to get Father O'Rourke involved in the story more...maybe for Merle's sake at least, but with sooooo many characters, it's hard to focus on just the minor ones...I'd love to write everyone (hence the Rick chapter here), but alas just cannot.**

**Axelrocks - French Canuck? My people! I knew there was a reason I liked you! Merle is such a button pusher, isn't he? I kind of adore him.**

**laura - I'm trying. I think the man deserves some redemption. I mean when we first met him we were supposed to hate him, being a drugged up racist, but the truth is he came from the same background as Daryl and deserves a second chance just like anyone.**

**A True Dreamer - I hope the alert sticks for your sake as well. Too bad about your other OTP pairing being obliterated. I hate when that happens, it's like a personal wound is opened. ^_^ Thank God for fanfiction, huh?  
**

**spygrrl99 - Aw, I bet you say that to all the fanfic writer's...you tease. ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**Supfan - I love me some man on man fighting action! I think it was due time, the Lt. is too easy going, he needed to establish his Alpha Male role. ^_^**

**Lilone1776 - I know. Merle is one of those characters that raise either legions of loyal and rabid fans or legions of villagers outside his castle with pitchforks and torches. I adore him!**

**AFishNamedSushi - Gah, I missed you! Glad to see you're back! ^_^ I worry about my loyal reviewers when they miss a few chapters. I'm honoured that you read my Caryl chapter in a meeting...that makes me feel like a drug pusher. (Which shouldn't make me feel this proud..odd...)**

**So, hey, if any of you follow me on tumblr don't be afraid to give me a head's up. A lot of you have different names over there and it's confusing and a little scary. I won't be mean if you give me a friendly 'hey', I swear!**

**So...I wanted to write a Rick chapter, because after all I adore the man...he needs to be brought back to us. I'm not even sorry for the lack of Caryl in this one, because RICK!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Three: Tracas**

****Rick****

He had lost part of his soul.

Somewhere between waking up in the hospital a cop with a gunshot wound and the place he stood at the very moment, looking over the unloading of supplies, keeping mental track of what they had and what they needed, a piece of it had splintered off and had fallen on the dusty ground.

If he was honest – and at this point at least he could say he was an honest man with himself – it didn't happen with Lori. The piece of his soul, his very essence, that had broken off wasn't due to losing her. It didn't come from Shane and the path that they had walked down together, it wasn't Judith or Carl or losing the farm.

If Rick had to be completely honest, he felt that part of him was lost the instant he argued with Dale on the point of Randall.

He had let desperation and greed and perhaps a touch of pride work their way into him and they kicked and chipped away until that piece of his soul came loose.

The thing that turned his blood cold in his veins was how okay he was with that. It was like he was standing outside wavy glass blocks, peering in on the man he used to be, disconnected from that police officer he once was. He was comfortably numb in his disconnection.

As the last of the supplies disappeared into the church, he bowed his head and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot.

"Daryl," he said, addressing the man he knew wouldn't be too far from his side. "Get everyone together for a quick tactical meeting. I think it's time we discussed this ambush further."

"You got it."

Watching the youngest Dixon walk off, Rick sighed lightly. Admittedly if it wasn't for Daryl he didn't know what would have become of them, of any of them, Judith more than anything.

The truth was, Rick had moments where he thought of giving up his post to Daryl, but he wouldn't wish the burden on anyone, least of all him.

Turning back to head into the church to make sure everything was stored properly, he found a very grim nun standing just behind him.

She was a short, petite thing. The sort of woman who honestly looked like a good gust of wind would knock her off her course.

Then again, the way her mouth was set, her eyebrows lowered in determination, he had a feeling she'd fight tooth and nail to keep on her path despite the blowing gales.

"May I have a quick word, Mr. Grimes?" She asked in a posh Georgian accent.

It was the type of accent he could recall soccer moms and women from the suburbs of Atlanta having.

He glanced around, before nodding. "Alright."

Leading him around the corner of the church, the tiny woman looked up at him with clear, ocean green eyes.

"I was hoping you'd reconsider sending the Lieutenant into Woodbury," she said, holding up her hand before he could respond. "He may not mean much to you and yours, Mr. Grimes, but he means the world to us. He's an invaluable member of this convent and it would devastate us should we lose him."

"I'm sorry," Rick stated. "He's made his choice. But I promise we'll do everything to ensure he gets out of there alive."

"Somehow I can't seem to have faith in your promises, Mr. Grimes."

Placing his hands on his hips, Rick shifted on his feet, eyeing the woman. "You're just going to have to."

"Well, if you refuse to listen to my pleas, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave my convent. You and yours." She stated.

Unable to comprehend the woman, Rick stood for a long, silent minute gazing at her. "And where do you suggest we go?"

"Your people are not my concern, just as mine are not yours."

Knowing going back to the prison wasn't an option until the threat at Woodbury was quelled, Rick ran his hand over his face. "You can't just throw my people to the mercy of Woodbury."

"And you can't do likewise with mine," the woman insisted. "Mr. Grimes, I don't want to be cruel and callous, but if it comes down to keeping Lafayette from being thrown to the wolves, then I will cut off the head of the snake before it strikes. However," she added simply, "I'm not so cruel as to be unwilling to work out a compromise."

"Such as?"

Grace jerked her chin up, eyeing Tyreese's man as he wandered by high on the wall.

Rick watched the man pass as well, waiting until he was out of earshot, before continuing.

"What do you want from me?"

"Send me in his place." She said.

"No."

"Send me in Lafayette's place to Woodbury and your people will be very much welcome here as always."

Sighing heavily, Rick pondered her proposal. "Your Lieutenant is heavily trained. He can withstand it better if they resort to unsavoury means. You can't."

"I don't care." The woman insisted. "The Lieutenant means more to my people than I ever will. He keeps them safe, protects them, I'm not as valuable to them as he is. Besides, if you're so confident that you can get him out, then you can get me out just as well. I have nothing to fear."

"Let me think about it," he bargained, hoping to buy himself enough time to think of something better.

"No. I get your agreement or your people leave before dusk."

"That is an unacceptable demand," he snarled, stooping low enough to meet her eyes.

She remained still. "I don't care."

"Even if we die?" He snapped. Angling his body he pointed forcefully at the front gate. "Because out there is nothing but death and loss and blood and violence, that will be the world you'll turn us out into!"

"And what kind of life do you expect us to have after you're gone and our Lieutenant is demised?" She returned calmly. Infuriatingly calm.

"You'll have Merle, Michonne, hell maybe Tyreese and his people will want to stay with you here."

"Unacceptable." She stated. "They aren't my right hand, they aren't the one I trust most with the safety of these people."

Heaving a sigh, Rick eyed their surroundings looking for threats.

"I'm not asking much, Mr. Grimes. Just send me in his place. That's all I'm asking."

"You don't think your people will miss you?"

"I'm inconsequential," she said. "They need him, he's stronger, he can keep them safe and happy. I don't need to be trained to give the men at Woodbury your ambush coordinates, I can do it."

"And what are we supposed to tell him?"

"Nothing. I have a plan to keep him otherwise occupied while I slip away for Woodbury. It's not ethical, but any port in a storm, wouldn't you agree?"

Rick didn't like the idea of letting the woman go into the lion's den, but then again that disconnected part of him didn't care, as long as his people survived. "Fine."

The woman bowed her head solemnly. "You agree to my terms?"

"Yes."

"Do I have your word, Mr. Grimes?"

"Yes."

Smiling a little, the woman reached out and touched a small, strong hand to his wrist. "Good. Thank you."

He nodded.

"If I were a colder man," he began, "I would have just had my people take this place by force."

"But you're not, Mr. Grimes, and that was the chance I was willing to take."

Glancing up, Rick noticed Carol edging close and cleared his throat. He hadn't noticed her earlier and wasn't sure just how long she'd been standing there. "Carol?"

"Everyone's ready for the meeting," she said softly.

He nodded. "Okay."

With her bright blue eyes flickering from Rick to Grace, Carol stepped back. "We'll be waiting."

Watching Carol go, Rick exhaled. He could almost feel the man he was pushing at him, trying, pleading to just absolutely deny the nun what she wanted. But that took time and energy. If she wanted to go in the Lieutenant's place, then that was her prerogative, he was done with playing knight-in-shining-armour to everyone.

"Let me know a few days before you need me," the nun said softly. "I'm ready whenever you are."

He nodded.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

Standing in the bell tower, gazing down at the darkening land beneath him, Rick kept an ever vigilant watch on his people, knowing exactly who went where and how long they were there.

It wasn't a surprise to him when Carol joined him, as he spied her leaving the storage shed where he heard her and Daryl had made a little place for themselves and scurried up the steps of the church and into the building.

"It's going to be cool tonight," she greeted, holding herself against the chill that was already falling upon the Georgian countryside.

"Been colder," he returned.

"Judith's sleeping in the storage shed with me tonight," she went on conversationally. "She fell asleep on Daryl's chest, so he's incapacitated right now."

"What do you want, Carol?" Rick asked.

She leaned her hip against the guardrail where he stood and eyed him quietly.

In some ways she was like a mother cat, guarded against things that would want to harm her kittens, but capable of curling up in your lap and purring all night long. And the way she often looked at people reminded him of a cat, it was an unblinking, tranquil study of them.

She actually shamed him with just a look and his hung his head a little. Knowing full well she had heard his exchange with the nun earlier.

As though she sensed how uncomfortable she made him, she glanced away slowly, taking in the land below them.

"I remember the first time I saw you at the quarry," she began softly. "The first time you noticed me, anyways. You were soft spoken and patient, kind eyed and tall enough that you made me feel safe with just your presence."

"Those were simpler times," he argued.

"No, they weren't." She stated. "Life's always been hard, Rick. It's just before, the people who fought and struggled to live were separated from society as a whole. We heard about apartheid and war on the television and radio, but never lived it. Children were being drowned by their mothers and women were being beaten by their husbands in this country, but proper society never heard of these things and when they did, they'd cluck their tongues and shake their heads and say 'what a shame' and they had no clue, _no clue_ just what it was like for these people. Our quality of life has certainly changed, but the times are not easier or harder then they had been, then they always will be. It's just now we have to stop and appreciate life for the little things, because the threat of dying is suddenly very real. Now we're the one's living that hardship."

Rick eyed the woman at his side.

It was no secret what Ed had done to her, hell he saw spousal abuse first hand as a cop, but he never gave it much thought that she was living two hells, three if you counted the fact that she lost her daughter.

And yet she stood beside him, calm, collected, almost serene, looking at him with those unwavering cat-like eyes and a small smile on her face.

He swallowed thickly.

Carol reached out with her dainty hand and touched his forearm gently. "You know we love you, don't you? After everything we've been through, you have to know how close we've all become."

He eyed her hand on his arm.

As though reading his mind, Carol leaned over and gave him a kind hug, squeezing him in a way that only a mother could and Rick almost collapsed into the embrace.

When she pulled back all too soon, he sighed.

Carol beamed at him, rubbing his back between his shoulder blades where he carried the most tension, the weight of his responsibility.

"Come on down with me," she urged. "We have enough people on the wall, you should get some sleep tonight."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

He wasn't sure if it was Carol just giving him some form of support or perhaps it was his own conscience that finally won out, but later that night he tracked down the Cajun.

Finding him seated on the wall, eyeing the darkness, Rick climbed up beside him and relayed his entire conversation with Grace to him.

The Lieutenant, for his part, was quiet, listening intently to the entire tale, before shifting in his spot.

"I'm sorry she threatened your people, Rick." The man said.

"It doesn't matter, I think she was just pulling at whatever straws she had," he said, "can't say I blame her."

"So, what do you want to do about it then? Because there's no way in hell she's going to Woodbury."

"Well, she might not be happy, but we may have to just string her along. Unless you want to reconsider your offer to go."

Shaking his head once, the Cajun adjusted his grip on his rifle. "No, I said I'd go and I meant it."

"If your people are unhappy with you going—"

"They're all my people, Rick." A strange glint came to the man's eyes as he went on. "I'm a Marine, a servant of the United States armed forces. I don't care how messed up the country is, if these people at Woodbury are unjustly attacking innocents, then they need to be controlled. I know I'm just a soldier, but I always thought of myself as more of a peacekeeper. And as much as I adore my girls, they need to realize that first and foremost I am a Marine."

Rick eyed the man. It was funny, he wore the uniform, walked the walk, but as easy going and friendly as he was, it was almost easy to forget the man was a highly trained soldier.

"Believe it or not, _Texian_," the Cajun went on with a tiny smirk. "I'm actually good at what I do. There's a reason I started this war a Sergeant Major and it's not because I look good in the uniform."

"So what do you want to do?"

"Keep it between us for now, let her think she's gotten her way, let me know if she gives you any clue as to her plans. Don't worry, she likes to think she can get her way, kind of a pushy woman, but her heart is always in the right place."

Rick nodded. "If you're sure."

"_Mal pris_, eh?" The Lieutenant teased with a sigh. "_Mais_, thank you for letting me know, Rick. And don't worry, your people aren't going anywhere. I guarantee that."

"Thank you."

Offering him a crooked grin, the Lieutenant nodded. "Now get some sleep, yeah? Merle and I moved a couple of cots into the garden shed if you want to crash on the one behind the lawnmower. Don't worry, Merle's on the wall behind the church, you can get a good night's sleep."

"Thank you. Think I might take you up on that offer."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Tracas** - Problem

**Mal Pris** (A refresher) – Stuck in a bad situation.


	44. Bele

**Due to so many reviews on that last chapter, I'm going to do a mass THANK YOU and say YOU'RE ALL BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE! (skittletitz, you're a lovely person. Honestly, so kind and wonderful, your support has been just phenomenal) **

**That being said, I can't wait for this story to end so that I can get back to just reading fanfiction...I'm missing out on what looks like a ton of good ones.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Four: Bele**

****Carol****

By the time she managed to get herself back into the storage shed for a good night's rest, Daryl and Judith were both fast asleep.

The hunter's hand was resting protectively on Judith's back, to keep the baby safely on top of him, his back wedged in the little corner of the bed where the cot had been pushed against the wall.

Judith had been wrapped in a soft blanket that was brought back from the prison for her, her little head tucked just under Daryl's scruffy chin, where she looked so content to be.

Smiling at the two of them, Carol carefully perched on the end of the bed to remove her boots.

By the time she crawled in to join them, Daryl was awake, eyeing her quietly.

"Sorry," she whispered, afraid she had woken him from much needed sleep.

He shrugged. "Wasn't sleeping too deep anyways, didn't want to crush her."

Sliding up beside him tentatively, Carol managed to get an arm around the man's middle, just under Judith's covered feet.

"You could always put her in her crib," she said, speaking of the corrugated plastic box they found for her.

"Too cold tonight, wouldn't want her to get sick," he stated.

"I'm beginning to think she may grow up spoiled," Carol teased.

"Not spoiling her," he argued almost petulantly.

Laughing, she nodded. "Okay."

"Maybe a little," he admitted after a moment.

She scoffed at his sheepish delivery, which had him snorting. They both chuckled in unison.

Nuzzling in, Carol pressed her nose into the side of Daryl's neck, just beside Judith's little face and sighed at the warmth he put out and the sweet scent the baby seemed to exude. Daryl was like a space heater, only rougher and more prone to grumpy outbursts and nervous withdrawals from touch and Judith was like a little air freshener, smelling like baby powder and innocence.

"Think Rick would notice if we kept her?" Daryl asked suddenly.

"I think he might."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

She was helping Grace trim the peach tree the next morning, keeping one eye on her task and the other on Annie and her dog who were playing nearby, with Carl not too much further away.

If they didn't keep the branches well maintained a good wind could split the bigger limbs off the poor thing and kill the tree, ending their fresh fruit supply come fall.

The other women were scattered about, either on the wall, walking the grounds or sitting around the campfire mending clothes and chatting. Rick and Daryl had gone off again on a supply run with Glenn and Maggie, looking for more ammo for their ambush, while Merle and the Lieutenant had gone out hunting for something for dinner.

Gripping a bundle of dry, dead branches, she hauled them over to the fire, dropping them in a spot for the kindling and smiling at Andrea who had hobbled out from the infirmary to sit with the others.

"I feel kind of useless sitting here while you work," the blonde said.

Shrugging, Carol set her hand on Andrea's shoulder. "Don't feel useless, you're healing up and that's all you need to worry about doing right now."

Walking back over to the peach tree, Carol hurried to give Grace some support as the woman nearly fell backwards out of the tree as she grappled to climb high enough to cut the branches.

The convent had a ladder (granted it was only a four foot thing), but on the uneven ground beneath the tree, where the roots pushed the earth up in turbulent waves of grass and soil, they decided not to trust it.

Seemed the ladder was a safer choice in the long run.

Setting her feet on firm ground, the former nun sighed, eyeing the tree with an almost stern look.

"Stubborn flora," she stated.

"How'd you trim it before?" Carol asked.

"Well, we'd call up a lovely man from the town nearby and he'd come over with a cherry picker and trim it up for us."

"I guess that option is out of the question then."

"Unless he's survived and has nothing more pressing to do with his time," the woman added with a small grin.

Carol beamed at her unexpected sarcasm, still eyeing the tree.

"What if we harnessed ourselves somehow to get up there?"

"I don't know about you, honey, but I'm forty-five and even in my prime I wasn't the spriest thing this side of the Mississippi."

"Can't argue that."

"I never thought I'd ever be so ungrateful, but times like these make me wish God had chosen to make me just a wee bit taller," Grace said.

"I can do it," Michonne purred from behind them.

The two women turned to find Michonne standing there eyeing the tree.

"Are you sure?"

"Tree needs trimming, I've got nothing better to be doing right now," she said.

"Well, just be careful and harness yourself every couple of feet up." Carol said.

"Get me some rope."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

Eyeing the woman high in the tree, Carol held onto her wooden rose tightly, her heart in her throat.

"That woman," Grace muttered from beside her. "Is a Godsend."

"Let's just hope she's as nimble as a cat up there," Carol added.

"Head's up," Michonne called out, dropping a large piece of tree limb onto the ground.

"Christ," Merle grunted sidling up beside them, "if she was wearing a skirt I'd see right up it."

"Wicked man," Grace scolded. "Mind the blasphemy."

Chuckling, Merle handed her a skinned, cleaned dead creature of some kind. "Don't ask what it is, you might actually be able to enjoy your dinner tonight." He pointed out.

On the other side of him the Lieutenant held up a dead, skinned creature of his own proudly, grinning like a little boy.

"Mmm possum," the woman said, taking the creature without a care for the blood, "my granddaddy's favourite."

Carol laughed and took the other creature from the Lieutenant.

"Keep an eye on Michonne, would you?" She suggested to Merle.

"With your permission? Not a problem at all," he replied.

A branch came down, nearly taking him out.

Leaping back, Merle eyed the woman in the tree who glowered down at him.

"Watch out below," she said dryly.

"Try to keep the peace, Lafayette," Grace suggested.

The Lieutenant smiled broadly at her. "It's what I do best, _bele_."

"Um-hm, don't think I don't know what that means, you wicked Cajun wolf," Grace muttered on her way past.

The tall Cajun shifted sheepishly on his feet and nodded at Carol who passed him by.

She gave him a wide grin as he leaned in close to her.

"If she really knew that that meant she wouldn't be so happy about it," he whispered wickedly.

Giving him a playful warning look, Carol continued on, following Grace into the dorms with the meat for their night's meal.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

Inside the kitchens, she laid the creature out on the counter top, moving across the room for a good sharp knife.

"Carol?" Grace asked, setting about getting the fire in the wood stove going.

"Hn?"

"Did you happen to hear my conversation with Rick last night?"

"A bit of it."

Turning away from her task long enough to cast a scrutinizing look in her direction, Grace tilted her head. "Enough?"

"Enough."

"Do you think it's a poor decision on my part?"

Carol gripped the knife and the sharpener tightly, sliding the blade over the delicately textured metal pole. "I can't blame you for wanting to sacrifice yourself."

"Would you do it?"

"If I loved him enough? Yes."

"Would you do it for Daryl?"

Pausing in her work, Carol turned to study the woman who continued to stand by the oven, her face stone serious.

"I wouldn't hesitate."

Grace offered her a small grin. "Of course, you and Daryl have a vastly different relationship then me and the Lieutenant."

"How so?"

"Well, you love Daryl."

"Don't you love the Lieutenant?"

"Not in the secular sense, no, I embrace him as a good man."

"Of course." She must have pulled a doubtful face, because Grace was suddenly stilling, calming the emotions from her face.

"You don't sound convinced." The former nun said.

"I'm not sure it's my place to judge your words. If you say you don't love him then you don't."

"Honey, I may not be a truly devout nun anymore, but I'm still not in the market for a man."

"Even if he's tall and charming?"

"That rogue? Don't encourage the wicked imp in him." She paused, almost thoughtfully. "He is handsome, though, isn't he?"

Carol's eyebrows hit her hairline in shock.

Grace chuckled. "I may be a former nun, Carol, but deep down I'm still a woman. Think I wouldn't notice his aesthetics?"

Unable to believe the woman, Carol snorted in amusement, before laughing at the face the woman made as she fanned herself playfully.

The two women broke out into loud laughter together, before Carl entered the kitchen followed by Annie and her dog, ending the laughter.

Calming, Carol returned to her task.

"Everything okay here?" Carl asked.

"Yes, thank you." Grace returned simply, striking a match to light the fire with.

"Need any help with anything?" The young man asked.

"Aside from you keeping an eye on Annie, nothing at all, honey." Grace said. "I'm very grateful for you watching over her so closely."

Carl nodded. "Just making sure she stays safe."

"You're a wonderful young man," Grace went on.

Nodding, Carl touched the 9mm at his hip and headed back out the way he came, Annie and Boo quietly behind him.

"I think that poor girl has a little crush on him," Carol pointed out.

Sighing dramatically, Grace stood up from the oven and brushed her hands off. "And here my dreams of her taking vows are gone."

Slowing in her work, Carol set the knife down. "Would you still recommend others to take vows?"

"Just because I've lost my faith, doesn't mean I won't encourage others to find theirs. I haven't fallen out with the religion, only the ideals man has for it."

"How did you become a Catholic? May I ask? Daryl tells me that the Lieutenant said you were raised a Baptist?"

"When my daddy died, my mother went back to her parent's religion in order to cope. I converted to Catholicism at the age of fourteen. It seemed to suit me at the time."

"But…?"

"But lately I feel like maybe a good Baptist woman is needed to survive this world."

"Is there a difference?"

Moving close to help Carol cut the meat into pieces for the evening meal, the woman smiled serenely. "Well, Baptist women are loud and brash and we don't take guff from anyone. Catholic women tend to feel guilty about everything."

"Sounds like you may have been Baptist the whole time."

Laughing lyrically, Grace set a hand on Carol's forearm. "Perhaps. I guess, in the end, I just wanted to help people. But what I didn't know when I joined the order, was that you can't choose to go to missions in Africa or South America where they need you, but that the diocese sends you where they want. I suppose I never got to be anywhere where I could help, _truly_ help people."

Carol eyed the woman quietly. "What do you think you're doing now?"

"Surviving."

"If it wasn't for you or the Lieutenant we'd probably be dead or scattered to the winds. You have to know just how much we appreciate your kindness."

Grace nodded.

"And I know - despite the fact you threatened it - that you'd never kick us out. Ever."

The woman stilled in her work.

"You're not like that." Carol went on.

"It was the only card I could play." Grace admitted softly.

"Anything for love."

Grace nodded again, it was almost imperceptible.

Inhaling, Carol nodded with her. "You know, I think we severely underestimate the Lieutenant. I mean from the sounds of it, he survived alone for a few weeks without his unit to back him. He has to be more skilled than we'll ever know, to survive as he has."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I think you should let him go. I think you need to trust that he won't just give up and lay down and die. Besides, he has a lot to come home to. You just need to give him something worth fighting for."

"Is that what you do for Daryl?"

"Daryl never needed a reason to fight. He's been fighting his whole life. What I like to think I give him is a respite from fighting, a place where he can let his fists heal and find peace enough to rest his head."

Grace was silent, pondering her words for the longest time, before speaking, "what do you think I'd need to give Lafayette?"

"Whatever it takes to bring him safely home to you."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Bele** – girlfriend or sweetheart. The adjective is beautiful or pretty. It's actually the more intimate of endearments.


	45. Possede'

**skittletitz - I'm glad the show gave Michonne a playful side. I really am. I think she's going to get along great with the Lt.**

**Peta2 - Carol knows all about handling distant, hard-to-get men. ^_^**

**MarionArnold - I'm not a baby person myself, but damn are they good at snuggling whoever the hell they want. ^_^ I'd imagine Judith is badass!Daryl's kryptonite.**

**spygrrl99 - Aw, you're too kind. I am playing with the idea of my this a series...we'll have to see how badly it ends. There might not be anyone left to make a series with. -_-**

**HGRHfan35 - Annnnd now I have that song in my head. Thanks for that. (Also I hope you had a great weekend!) ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - Haha, you're really pushing the Merle/Michonne, aren't you...clever little devil...*mimics the Mother Superior***

**MollyMayhem84 - Could you imagine how painful an actual exploded ovary would be? *just thinking muh thoughts***

**Lilone1776 - I know. The thing about writing fanfiction (for me at least) is I abstain from reading other works while writing so that I can't be accused of stealing ideas...but good God I miss reading some of the ones out there. Especially some of the older ones...I enjoy the AU's where Sophia is still alive and everyone's happy...ier...happier. Still walkers around, can't be too Disney of course...*le sigh***

**Surplus Imagination - I guess you're just going to have to put a little faith into me as a writer...you're still reading this, so I must be doing something right. ^_^**

**Axelrocks - I think he was just tormenting her when he called her 'bele', you know how he is with his pet names. Does she really love the Lt? Does she?**

**Raeysama - Here's your update! Thanks for the review!**

**rebecca taylor - And IT loves you...I'm sure...maybe...^_^**

**AFishNamedSushi - I need to find time to incorporate more girl talk into this story...dammit, I enjoy Carol and Grace just hanging about being besties.**

**GG - Yeah, we had a damned sex scene with Shane and Lori and Andrea slutted out and grabbed Shane's crotch and let's not forget the multitude of Andrea/Philip sex scenes, but there hasn't been any good lovin' for awesome characters on the show in a long while...daymn. Also, you're such a beautiful person for telling me I'm a wonderful author. I think you deserve everything good to come your way in life. ^_^ (And don't worry, I have big things planned for both Carol and Grace).**

**SilverWolf84 - Gee, you've made me blush. ^_^ Thanks a million for this review and others you have posted. I appreciate every last one of them.**

**This chapter is lacking in Daryl, but makes up for it in plot development and such...so...at least it has appearances by Merle and Carol...so...**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Five: Possede'**

****The Lieutenant****

They should have been digging the cold pit root cellar, but with all the rain they had gotten in the past week, it seemed risky to go down into the soggy ground to dig in a hole, so the Lieutenant and Merle passed the time until their shift on the wall by securing ropes and a flat board to a thick limb on the walnut tree by the church for the wee boo to swing on.

They probably could have been doing something better, but the Lieutenant wanted to do something nice for the little girl. She had been having a rough time lately and he thought she'd enjoy a tree swing on the convent grounds for her to play on.

In the back of his mind he thought about what Carl had said to him about arming her and it stuck uncomfortably. It wasn't like he pushed the thought out of his mind entirely. He had plans for when he came back from Woodbury to teach the wee one weapon safety before just handing her one, but in the time before the war he wanted to give her a nice childhood while she could have one.

Not like she had a great one so far, but he'd like to think she deserved a little bit more.

It was a hard world they found themselves in.

"Test it out," Merle suggested, weighting the flat board seat with his hand and pushing.

"Go ahead, Merle."

"Come on, dummy. Don't be a puss, get on."

"What on God's green earth are you doing to my walnut tree?"

The two men straightened and turned to find Grace standing behind them, her hands full of lunch for the both of them.

"We're making it fun," the Lieutenant pointed out, pushing the swing in her direction.

She looked unimpressed, eyeing the thing. "Someone's going to get killed on that thing."

"It's a swing, not much damage can be done." Merle argued.

"Um-hm, here's your lunch boys," she handed them off their plates, still eyeing the swing.

Slumping onto the ground beneath the tree, the men dug in, eating voraciously.

Sucking a bit of the canned vegetable stew off his thumb, the Lieutenant motioned with his other to the swing.

"Try it out, honeychild."

She folded her arms. "So I can fall on my dignity? No, thank you."

"Don't trust our construction abilities?" Merle grunted.

"Don't trust you boys," she replied with a small grin, moving towards the swing cautiously and testing it with her hands on the rope, before easing onto the bench tentatively.

The men beamed at their success and the Lieutenant set aside his plate to scramble to his feet.

Moving up behind the nun, he gripped the rope just above her head and leaned over to gloat.

"Haven't fallen yet," he teased.

"Give it time."

"Anything will fall given enough time and weathering," Merle pointed out.

"I think you boys need something better to do with your time," she continued to argue.

Moving around her, the Lieutenant pulled the swing up close to him. The woman weighed next to nothing. It was almost unhealthy.

"Lafayette, don't!" She protested.

He released her, setting her in motion with a wide grin.

Before she could hop off when it returned, he pushed the swing again, sending her backwards.

"Well, she made the return trip," Merle said. "Can't be that horribly constructed."

Dragging her feet put a stop to the fun, Grace huffed and clasped her hands in her lap, eyeing the men.

The Lieutenant smirked at her as he returned to his meal under the tree.

She remained seated on the swing, watching them with guarded eyes.

For as long as he'd live, the Lieutenant would never be able to fully understand what went on in the woman's mind. She kept herself so carefully guarded that he couldn't read her face half of the time and the other half it was a general, standard emotion.

He often liked to watch her when she thought no one was looking, trying to catch a glimpse of her true self.

The only time he ever saw her was that night she had the breakdown, when she was frail and so shaken, but that wasn't the 'her' he wanted to see.

Maybe it was because despite all he did for the convent, he was still a stranger to them.

Patting the grass beside him, he invited her over.

Merle cleared his throat quickly and stood up with his plate. "I'm going to go and eat this elsewhere."

Nodding his appreciation to Merle, the Lieutenant invited Grace over to his side again, this time she came quietly, easing onto the grass at his side.

"You eat yet?" He asked.

She shook her head. "Not yet."

Enjoying the afternoon quiet, the two of them eyed the convent grounds. In the distance they could see Tyreese standing on the wall talking with Beth who stood on the ground below, holding Judith. He was holding a plate, so Beth must have just delivered his midday meal to him. Michonne was on the front gate with Father O'Rourke who seemed to be idly chatting at her while she listened quietly.

"Where's Annie?"

"In the church with Carl, I told her to go and sweep it out, you know how much she enjoys that."

The Lieutenant grinned.

One of the first days she was with them he had returned to the convent after hunting and found the girl in the church grinning from ear to ear and sweeping the dirt around happily.

Whatever made her happy, he supposed, knowing how easily she seemed to fly off the handle at times.

"The girl needs some structure in her life," Grace added.

"That girl needs more affection," he argued.

"Hm, well we'll always differ in opinions on that matter."

Beside him the woman sat so primly, so properly on the lawn. Her hands folded in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankles, right over left like a dainty little lady of the country.

It was one thing Lafayette always admired about her, just how much like a queen she could be when doing something so common.

The past few days he had found himself watching her much more carefully, with more scrutiny and he was amazed to find a grace and fluid motion to everything she did.

He was reminded of a dancer, the way she moved.

"I've decided to give you permission to go to Woodbury."

He pursed his lips to stop him from grinning. "Oh?"

"I expect you to report to duty afterwards in one piece, Lieutenant." She stated firmly.

The grin he had fought found its way onto his face in a small, cat-like fashion. "Yes, ma'am."

Casting him a baleful look, she sighed. "I'd love to offer you some kind of incentive to return to us, but…I have nothing. You're a hard man to read and I couldn't even begin to think of what to offer you."

This surprised him. He had never thought he was that hard to figure out, his needs were few and simple.

"Never asked you for any incentive," he argued lightly.

"No, but you should have something worth coming back to," she said.

He shrugged. "I was fighting before and there wasn't anything for me to come home to. Got back from Fallujah, wasn't anything I was looking forward to...except maybe a good night's sleep and no one shooting at me. Which was nice, admittedly."

"But you probably didn't have so many people who'd miss you if you didn't return."

"A few, but…I like you better," he admitted with a quick grin.

To his surprise Grace laughed, her mouth splitting into a wide, child-like grin.

He couldn't recall ever seeing her smile quite like that and it pleased him immensely.

"Why Mother Superior, I do believe I've finally made you smile," he teased.

"It's not hard when you stop tormenting me and speak with genuine affection." She pointed out.

He leaned in close to her, about to continue the tradition they had set up of torment, when Annie's shrieks had them jerking to their feet, his lunch fell with a splat onto the ground as they tore off in the direction of the church.

Instinctually he had his knife out and ready to defend the little girl, when he spied Carl standing in the middle of the church looking helplessly lost.

Annie was screaming and kicking and generally tearing the inside of the church apart wildly. At her feet Boo the dog was fluttering about, yipping in the low, deep rumble of a bark the dog had.

"Annie!" The Lieutenant called out, moving to her aid as she swung blindly at everything that moved.

"No!" She shrieked loudly.

"What happened?" Grace asked Carl who was backing away from the girl.

"I was just trying to get her to hold my gun." He said. "I just thought she should see what it was like."

Trying to grasp flailing hands, the Lieutenant failed as Annie landed a hand on his face, scratching four red marks down his face.

He collapsed onto his ass, still trying to get her to stop jerking about in a fit.

"Boo!" He shouted at her, trying to get her attention.

"No!" She repeated wildly.

Finally managing to get his arms around her waist, Lafayette pulled the girl to him in order to get her to slow her warpath.

"Boo," he cooed in her ear.

"Annie Louise!" Grace shouted. "You need to stop this!"

As Annie bit down hard on his forearm, the Lieutenant released her in shock, cursing as a reactionary measure not an angry. He recaptured her, better prepared for an unexpected bite, keeping his arms low and away from her mouth.

"Hasn't she ever held a gun before?" Carl demanded.

Grace turned to him. "She's only six, honey." Taking hold of his shoulders, she marched the young man to the door. "Look, we'll handle this, you go outside and let everyone know it's nothing serious."

He hesitated. "I'm sorry. I was only trying to help. I thought she should know."

"It's alright, go on now."

On the floor with a squirming, crying, moaning girl, the Lieutenant panted heavily. She had put up one hell of a fight, but that wasn't what had him going, it was the fact that Annie had never reacted this way. Not even during her worst nightmare.

Even Grace looked horrified as she sunk to her knees before them, reaching out to stroke Annie's red and tear streaked face.

"We can assume she doesn't like guns," Lafayette said softly, holding the girl against him as she began to calm down, touching his hand to her ear to prevent her from hearing the conversation.

"But she's been around guns, a lot more than the average child should," Grace argued.

"But she's never touched one, and I try to keep mine away from her."

Removing his hand from her ear, Lafayette stroked the wee boo's hair from her face and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"_Boo_? You feeling better, _honeychild_?"

Pressing her face deeper against his chest, she shook her head.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

"No," she muttered stubbornly.

"Want me to make the frog face?" He asked.

Annie looked up at him, nodding with a sniffle.

Drawing his mouth into a flat, straight line, he hunkered his head down on his shoulders a little and stuck his tongue out.

The little girl giggled.

"Brobbit," he croaked deep in his throat.

Across from him Grace sat back on her bottom on the church floor and shook her head at them.

"You have to catch the fly," Annie pointed out.

Flicking his tongue out quickly, the Lieutenant pretended to chew on something.

Carol stepped into the church quietly.

"Is everything okay? Can I help?" She offered softly.

"Yes, let's try and get Annie into bed, she'll get sick from crying so hard," Grace said, pushing to her feet. "Maybe cool her off with a wet cloth."

"I'm okay," Annie protested.

"You should probably try to get a lie down in, _pischouette_."

"I don't wanna."

"If you do I'm sure Mother Mena will look the other way if you want to come and have a camp out with me tonight in the shed, okay?"

"I didn't hear anything," Grace added.

Sniffling again, Annie swiped at her tear stained face. "Okay."

"Good girl," the Lieutenant said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I love you, Lieutenant," she added, coming back to give him a tight hug.

He hugged her back. "You do?"

"Um-hm."

Beaming at Grace over Annie's head, the Lieutenant scooped the girl up one last time and snuggled her. "Well, that's good, because I love you too. Now go on, get some rest, yeah?"

He slipped the girl to the ground and pointed her in the direction of Carol and Grace who were waiting to take her for a nap.

Annie waved back at him from the doorway and he wriggled his pointer finger back at her.

It wasn't until he was by himself in the church that he collapsed onto a pew and heaved a world weary sigh. The poor _beb_ was in hell and he had no clue how to deal with it. He wasn't a head shrink, but he was sure her actions weren't normal.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Possede'** (A refresher) - A bad , mischievous, child. The literal translation is possessed.


	46. Décider De

**A True Dreamer - Different in a good way or bad way? You sound so disappointed...V_V**

**HGRHfan35 - Everyone needs a tree swing, I don't care how old you are. *Spy has spoken* Thanks for the review!**

**Brazen Hussy - Don't worry, Merle is never discreet for long.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Well, I was doing deep research into childhood psychological trauma...so that's a major hint as to what's going on with her. And the Lt. was on the right track about rifle's not bothering her...**

**peonies01 - Aw! I love how your husband comes in third...as an after thought. Sweet. ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**skittletitz - Oh, Merle is going to be hard on Fay too. He just has some basic decency when it comes to being the third wheel. (I honestly don't see Merle as that big of an ass...though he is...ah what a complex fellow that Merle Dixon is!)**

**Surplus Imagination - You are very close in your estimate, my friend. Grace on the swing would be adorable...have to find time to work that in...(damn plot taking over the next few chapters...why can't I make this a story that goes nowhere but just passes time?)**

**Axelrocks - Guns are freaky man. But then again I've never fired one...so...though I have used bows frequently in my youth...how does that work out? Never hunted though...what a huh moment for me.**

**LisaBoston - Thank you! And thanks for the kind review!**

**GG - Is it wrong of me to ship Carl and Wee Boo? I hate when characters get shipped with OC's though...I just don't buy the Carl/Beth thing they're hinting at...not at all. She's too cool for him.**

**Well, after a few terrible, rotten, no-good chapters, this here's a good one. I promise!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Six: Décider De**

****Daryl****

He was drawing a diagram of the place he and Rick had scoped out for the ambush for Merle and the Cajun that night after they got back from the supply run. It was an outlet mall on the outskirts of a city, where they figured there'd be a lot of good places for their people to hide, while the Governor and his men would be forced out into the open.

"I figure if we set up our best shots on the roof there," Rick said, "we can have bird's eye coverage for those on the ground."

"The roof is too obvious," the Lieutenant offered helpfully. "I think you could put one or two up there as decoys, but you'd be better off having most of them in the trees to the rear, better coverage."

"I don't think our people are that good of shots without scopes on their rifles," Rick argued.

"Don't need to hit them. This Governor _couyon_ gets caught in the middle of a gunfire show it'll break his men up, half of them will be concentrating on those in the trees, the other half on the mall. Just be sure those in the trees aim low, they won't hit your men at all if they shoot at the ground near the men."

"Still too risky, might get friendly fire shooting like that."

Daryl touched a finger to the side of his nose and rubbed, a habit he had when he was nervous about sharing. "Maybe if we off-set where we'll be, set up due east a ways, we won't even have to worry about friendly fire."

"You might avoid the gunfire completely if you lure the asshole into the mall and set it off somehow." Merle pointed out.

"What? Like an explosion?" Rick asked.

"Could do a lot of damage in a short period."

Rubbing his scruff, Rick eyed their makeshift map. "Naw, I want to shoot the bastard myself, make sure he's dead. Besides an explosion that big'll bring all the walkers in the area down on our heads."

"Yeah, well, your need for personalized vengeance could get your people killed, Officer Friendly," Merle argued. "You really want to risk that?"

"Well yeah, I do, Merle," Rick stated. "We only get one shot at this ambush and I want to make sure we do it right the first time."

"What if you do both?" The Lieutenant interrupted the fight that was about to happen, moving between the men to point at the map. "What if you send the outlet up in fire and brimstone, but position your men about the exits with guns. They can shoot anything that comes out and beat cheeks out of Dodge before the Hole-In-The-Head gang shows up."

"Could we find enough of something to blow the whole place up, anyways?" Michonne broke in from where she sat quietly on the hood beside the map.

Everyone looked amongst themselves.

"I…" the Cajun began tentatively. "Logistics has this bank of Apache helicopters perched on the edge of the training field for emergency attacks. Some of them might have Hellfire missiles still attached to them. The only problem is last I heard Logistics was overrun, could be a pain in the ass to get at them."

"That's assuming we have someone among us who can fly a helicopter," Merle argued.

"That's assuming the missiles are still there," Michonne added.

The Lieutenant angled his head. "Naw, wouldn't need to fly, _grande beede_, just need the missiles. Set up them up at strategic spots inside the mall, only need to tweak them a bit to set them _salauds_ off. And the missiles might be there, pilots were all shipped off to Atlanta when she was burning they needed men to pilot emergency choppers in the air, med-evacuating civilians from the remote locations."

"How bad was Logistics?"

"_Bad_ bad," the Cajun replied.

"Could we get in and get out?"

"I wouldn't know. For all I know could be cleared out by now with the last herd that moved through. Course, I know the place like it was my own face, I could get you in and through it fast enough to grab and get out."

Rick looked at Daryl for his input.

The youngest Dixon shrugged. "Might be some good stuff to loot at a Marine base," he pointed out. "Could be worth the trouble."

"Especially when it comes to war," Michonne added.

Nodding decidedly, Rick stepped back onto his left foot. "Alright, we'll need a bigger team, we'll treat this as more than a supply run."

"I'd like to go along this time, smiley," Merle spoke up.

Rick nodded. "We need all the hands we can get."

"Well, _one_ more hand, at least, couldn't hurt," the Lieutenant pointed out.

Merle grinned smugly at the Cajun. "How'd it go with that nun of yours, you stick it to her yet?"

Glancing around sheepishly, the Lieutenant hung his head a little. "Shut up, Merle."

"That's the last time I give you space," the oldest Dixon muttered as he walked away, "since you don't seem to know what to do with a woman and free time."

"I know what to do with a woman and free time!" The Lieutenant shouted after the man.

The shouting gathered the attention of Father O'Rourke on the wall nearby and the Cajun turned his shouting into nervous coughs, walking off in the direction of the garden shed.

Walking over, the priest stooped to one knee and smiled at them. "A dollar to a dime says he doesn't."

Smirking, Daryl parted with the group of men, hurrying to catch up with the Cajun.

"Hey, Fay, wait up," he called after the man.

The Lieutenant turned and waited for him to catch up.

"What's wrong, _cabri_?"

Eyeing the convent around them, Daryl hesitated, touching a hand to his chin. "Carol told me about your little girl, is she okay?"

"She'll be fine. Don't really know what set her off, but it's not the first time she's gone into hysterics, course it wasn't ever that bad, but…probably due to what she's been through."

Daryl nodded. "You need me to do anything?"

"Not much you can do. Not sure anyone can, really."

"Okay, you need me, you know where I am."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Hey," he added as an afterthought, "sorry about Merle, he only teases people he likes."

"I know. He doesn't bother me one bit."

Smirking a little, Daryl bowed his head. "So did you?"

"What?" The Lieutenant asked, knowing full well what Daryl was getting at.

"You know."

"Me and an ex-nun on the front lawns of a convent in front of God's own? Yeah, that would go over well at the pearly gates."

The youngest Dixon scoffed.

"Speaking of women who blissfully run our lives, how's your girl doing?"

Flinching at the mention of Carol, Daryl shrugged. It wasn't that he didn't know how she was doing, he was just somehow oddly protective of even her feelings and emotions, like they were something other people shouldn't just casually ask and know about.

"What's 'cabri' mean?" He asked, changing the subject with something that's been on his mind for a long time.

The Lieutenant paused, before grinning. "_Cabri_? It means 'goat'."

"Why do you call me a goat?"

The Cajun stroked at his own chin playfully. "The scruff, you reminded me a little goat when I first saw you. Course it's better now."

Daryl touched his scruff, he had trimmed it a few days ago, but it was growing back little by little. "Yeah, well, that damned nun of yours tried to get me to shave the other day, thought she was going to hold me down and do it. I thought the least I could do to appease her was trim it."

"You still remind me of a _cabri_," the Lieutenant said with a wink. "Those girls keep on trying to groom you and you'll actually pass for a country gentleman, yeah?"

"You start calling me 'your fair lady' and I'll punch you in the mouth, Fay." Daryl growled.

"Alright, Eliza, just settle your tits down."

"Fuck you, Cajun." Daryl snarled, storming away.

"Hey, _couyon_!" The Lieutenant called after him. "Don't go too far! I've grown accustomed to your face!"

Pausing long enough to flip the Cajun off, Daryl continued on in the direction of the garden shed where he spied Carol emerging.

"I'm just heading out to take watch on the wall for Maggie," she greeted. "Let her get some sleep tonight."

He nodded.

Despite her saying this, she followed him into the shed.

Inside Daryl found she had gotten into some old wire and had strung up the shards of stained glass from the ceiling like some kind of mobile and had replaced the simple black curtains with what looked like curtains made from a flowery old blouse.

He eyed the changes to their 'home' quietly, setting his crossbow down on the workbench nearest their bed.

"Thought I'd make it homier in here," she explained softly from the doorway.

He nodded, reaching up to touch one of the dangling pieces of coloured, rippled glass, setting the piece trembling.

"I had some time to myself for once, got bored." She went on.

He offered her a small grin, pleased that she was trying to make the shed into a little nest of her own. Truth was he liked the fact that she had put a feminine touch to their shed.

She smiled back at him and took a few steps forward, hand reaching out to smooth back some of his errant hair from his eyes.

"Suppose you think I need a trimming," he said.

She shrugged reaching up to playfully tug at his scruff. "It doesn't bother me. I'm not about to tell you what you can and can't do to yourself."

"I could do with a trim," he admitted softly. "If you want."

"When I get back from watch," she said, pushing up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, pulling back with a small, proud grin.

Wrapping his arms around her waist carefully, he pulled her back in for a decent kiss, sliding his mouth over hers.

He wanted her to know the things he couldn't say with just a kiss, but he honestly had no idea how to go about it. Did he just kiss her and hope she got the message? Or was there some kind of trick to it?

Intimacy wasn't something he was highly experienced in. In fact it rated up there with opera plots and classic kabuki actors as things he knew about. Hell, he wasn't even sure what the hell kabuki was…

Carol's small, strong hand landed against his chest and he thought for a moment she was going to push him away and prepared to step back.

In a flash, almost as though panicked, her hand curled in his shirt and she pulled him down closer to her.

Grasping her by her hips, he lifted her up and onto the workbench behind her, settling between her legs, mouth still trying hard to convey things it couldn't normally convey through action not words.

Reluctantly she pulled away, her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. "I really have to get on watch." She whispered almost sorrowfully.

He nodded and pressed one last kiss to her swollen lips, helping her down off the workbench the same way he helped her up.

Carol flashed him her bright grin and adjusted the new scarf she had fashioned for herself. "I'll be done my shift at midnight," she said.

He nodded.

"Keep the home fires burning," she teased, grabbing the worn old rifle she was using for wall duty.

"Hey," he called after her, "uh, we're heading to a Marine base tomorrow."

Daryl never felt the need to share his plans with anyone, but he thought she should at least know what he was up to now that they were sharing a shed.

She nodded.

"We might not be back tomorrow night, it's an hour or so away and there's probably a lot of walkers hanging around it." He went on.

"I'd imagine a military base might be a good place to loot," she said.

"We're hoping so."

Giving him her gentle smile, she bowed her head. "I'll be back later. Be awake, hm?"

He smirked at her tone and nodded. "Yeah."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Décider de** – To decide to.


	47. Raison

**Due to massive amounts of reviews, I'm going to cut back on the reply space by addressing the ones that need addressing. Just know I still love the other reviewers, but my goodness there must be a line drawn on reply space.**

**Emerald Kitten - I kind of enjoy the idea that both men have seen My Fair Lady and get the references. Also it's a fine musical.**

**HGRHfan35 - I love Daryl, don't get me wrong, but honestly it's the same thing that peeves me as Rick's beard. Like my God, the world ended, but razors and scissors still exist guys. So damned scruffy...**

**skittletitz - I've been meaning to get around to Daryl asking about cabri, I'm just glad he didn't ask what couyon meant, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate it half as much as cabri.**

**Lilone1776 - Oh, I know...the show is hell on a fan's heart. I hope I don't kill half as callously or often as they do...but still, it is a dog eat dog world they live in.**

**GG - Oh, the Marine base is going to be loads of fun! I swear!**

**Brazen Hussy - I did sort of get a wicked thrill at the idea that both men have knowledge of My Fair Lady...I could imagine Daryl saw it on late night TV at some point in his youth and the Lt. is just weird enough to enjoy musicals. (I also like to think deep down they both secretly love it...but that's just me...)**

**MollyMayhem84 - I'm so glad they nixed that pairing idea...honestly, it was just weird. And not the age thing, because I enjoy a good age space between characters in a pairing. But because Beth seems adorable and Carl is still a little shit in my mind (sorry Season 3 cannot atone for Season 1 & 2 Carl).**

**Surplus Imagination - Well, Carol never nagged Daryl about his choices in the past on the show, why should she start nagging him about his choices now that they're together? I think she'd quietly suffer with being uncomfortable about him going out, but she knows it's for the best.**

**AFishNamedSushi - It's really hard writing awkward intimacy!Daryl with so many reviewers screaming for me to just write a sex scene in the story...I'm glad you appreciate my efforts to make him a little more believable in his awkwardness.**

**To the other reviewers I had nothing really to reply to, you know I love ya! And, hey, shout to to those who read but don't review, because dammit reviews are hard! I should know, I never know what to say in a review either.**

**Ugh, OC heavy chapter...my apologies all around...but hey, at least I update so often this will all seem like a bad nightmare in a day or two...**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Raison**

****The Lieutenant****

She was in her study later that night, scratching out calculations of supplies in her little notebook, when he stepped in with his .22.

The Lieutenant set it on her desk, over the work.

"Whatever are you doing?" She demanded.

"You wanted a rifle," he said.

"This is yours."

He shrugged. "Rick found some .308 rounds for me, Marie is back in commission, so…I kept her in good condition, so you shouldn't have any problems with her."

Running a finger down the length of the scope, Grace made a small sound of discontent.

"Do you want me to remove the scope for you?" She said.

He shook his head. "Naw, consider it an added bonus."

"And what do you plan on sniping with, Lafayette? If I have your scope?"

He beamed. "Well, we'll probably find one at the base tomorrow."

"If you get near enough to claim one," she replied.

Resting his hip against her desk, he leaned over it to chat with her. "You sound a little upset. Are you mad I'm going?"

"Why would I be mad?" She asked. "I have no control over your actions. You're a free man."

"Now I know you're mad," he said. "I have lived with women long enough to know that."

"I'm mad at the world, not you." She said picking up the rifle.

"Of course."

She tried to slide the bolt back with little difficulty, offering him a sheepish smile. "It's been a while."

"Sure enough. Oh!" He fumbled in his many pockets for the box of .22 ammo he had brought for her. "I have, uh, some ammo for you."

She took the box quietly, setting it on an empty corner of her desk. "Thank you for the weapon, Lafayette."

"Are you are sure you're alright?" He asked softly.

"I keep thinking about Annie, the poor girl needs more than we're giving her."

"What more is there?" He demanded. "She gets discipline from you and cuddles from me. Isn't that what parents do?"

"She needs stability."

Hopping up to sit on her desktop, the Cajun grinned. "We all need stability these days."

"I mean familial stability."

"Well, I'd make an honest woman out of you, only last I checked God kind of frowns upon nuns marrying."

"You know full well what I mean."

"No, I don't. We give Annie what we can, short of going out and slaying every last uggie in the country."

"She needs more. She deserves more."

Suddenly it all clicked for him and the Lieutenant bit the inside of his cheek. "I get it," he said after a moment. "You don't want more for her in the way of what we can give, you want a quick fix for her."

"She shouldn't have to wake in the night screaming," Grace said.

"But she does and we can't turn back time to prevent her terrors from creeping in," he argued hopping off the desk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a camping date with a wee boo. I have to build a blanket fort and find something to keep her entertained with. You're welcome to join us if you want, we have the shed to ourselves tonight."

Grace smiled sadly. "You go ahead, I have to do a few more calculations to see how much food we'll need to preserve for the winter."

"Well, the invitation is hanging in the air for you if you get bored."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

They had constructed a blanket fort out of his scratchy, thin blanket and were holing up under it later that night.

Watching Annie play with Boo the dog and a rag doll she had brought with her, the Lieutenant huddled his lanky form under the low ceiling of the fort.

"That's a cute little doll," he remarked. "Where did you get her?"

"Carol made her for me. See? She's made out of an old nun's dress," the girl said holding up the white cloth doll with the black dress and the scraggly black hair. For eyes it had black stitching and a little red mouth.

"She's real cute, did you thank Carol?"

"Um-hm."

"What's her name?"

"Carol Beth Mena."

The Lieutenant beamed. "That's a fancy name for a fancy little lady."

"Yeah, you wanna hold her?"

"Me? Alright, sure."

Annie handed the doll over to him. "You have to cradle her neck, that's what Beth says to do with Judith."

"I see, because she's just a baby, right?"

"Yeah."

Holding the doll with her neck delicately cradled, the Lieutenant chuckled.

"Hey, boo?" He asked. "Can I ask you about earlier? What happened with Carl?"

Annie shrugged, avoiding his eyes by petting Boo the dog.

"Are you scared of guns?"

Again she shrugged. "Think you'll catch a turkey soon?" She changed the subject.

"Soon, I hope," he replied. "Did someone hurt you with a gun or tried to?"

"Uh-uh."

"Come here," he said, pulling her towards him into a hug. Holding the girl in his arms, he tucked the doll back against her and settled them against the pillow behind him. "Do you remember why you got so scared of the gun, _honeychild_?"

"I didn't want to get hurt," she whispered.

"But you're around my rifle all the time, doesn't that scare you?"

"It's not the same."

"What do you mean?"

"Mama hurt herself with Carl's gun."

The Lieutenant furrowed his brow, before he realized what she meant. "A handgun?"

Annie shrugged.

"Your mama hurt herself with a handgun?"

"She was hurt, one of those ugly looking men hurt her and she told me to go and hide in a cupboard until daddy got back. She said 'cover your ears and be real quiet until daddy comes home'."

"Then what happened?"

Annie shrugged, turning around to snuggle in against his chest, her arms winding around his neck. "You're not going anywhere, right?"

"Well, we're going out tomorrow," he said, content to let the matter drop. Even if she gave up a bit of what happened, it was more than he was ever able to get out of her, more than he ever dared to get out of her. "But I'll be back in a couple of days."

Annie scrambled across the interior of their fort for the deck of cards he had found. "Can we play something?"

"What do you want to play?"

They both looked up a gentle knocking at the door, before it opened a crack and Grace poked her head in tentatively, peering about.

"I was extended an invitation for a camp out," she greeted cautiously.

Lafayette beamed at her and motioned her inside the shed.

She entered, standing at the door looking around, her hands clasped around a small brown paper bag.

"Hi!" Annie chirped. "You can come inside the fort!"

Carefully, almost nervously, Grace stooped and entered the blanket fort, crawling on her hands to the foot of the cot, where she scrunched her small frame up tightly.

Annie scurried over to cuddle against her side, as the Lieutenant shuffled the cards.

"This is a very impressive blanket fort," Grace said.

"What's in the bag?" Annie asked.

The former nun smiled. "Something I bartered off of Glenn for."

"What?"

"Close your eyes."

Annie made a huge production out of clamping her hands over her eyes, beaming.

Pulling a chocolate bar from the bag, Grace dangled it in front of the girl's face. "Open them."

Annie gasped in joy and took the candy. "Thank you!"

Knowing her habit of sharing whatever she ate with the dog, the Lieutenant cautioned her about sharing the chocolate treat with it as Annie tore into the candy bar delightfully.

"Sugar before bedtime, this must be a special occasion," the Cajun teased.

"Well, s'mores were out of the question, so I had to make due."

Finding a bar tossed into his lap, the Cajun smiled and moved around a sleeping dog and a snacking kid to ease his long form into the space beside Grace.

Noticing she didn't have a chocolate bar of her own, he split his and gave her the biggest half with a small grin.

"Can we do this again?" Annie asked, her mouth full of half masticated chocolate and nuts.

"Swallow before you speak," the Lieutenant said. "Or you'll choke."

"Nuh-uh! That's not true!" The girl protested.

"Sure it is, I once knew a man who choked on a whole fried chicken leg, they had to bury him with the shape of it lodged in his throat. Everyone laughed at him in his coffin because he looked silly."

Annie swallowed. "Really?"

"Sure. Everyone laughs at the fool who chokes because they were talking with a mouthful of food." He went on smoothly.

Beside him Grace laughed, touching her mouth in an effort to swallow before she actually did choke.

"You probably shouldn't make jokes while someone's eating either," the Lieutenant amended, lightly rubbing Grace's back to help her get through her bite.

"Would you laugh if Mother Mena choked?" Annie demanded.

"Of course not, I _like_ her."

The little girl beamed slyly. "Then you should kiss her!"

"So we can make babies, yeah?" He returned.

Annie giggled. "Yes!"

"Annie Louise!" Grace gasped. "Where did you learn such things?"

"Places," the little girl replied.

The Lieutenant beamed, his smile quickly dying when he saw the grave nature of Grace's features. He shook his finger at Annie quietly.

The little girl giggled wildly and crawled over the narrow cot to nestle between them, dragging Boo the dog with her.

Grace set her hand on Annie's head, playing with her soft black hair idly.

"Can we play a game?" She asked, looking up at the Lieutenant first, then Grace.

"Sure, honey."

"Have you ever played Plastic?" The girl asked.

Both adults shook their heads.

"Well, it's like…um…okay, you have to stand up and I get to position you and you have to guess what I'm trying to position you into."

"Like Pictionary with people?" The Lieutenant clarified, confused by the concept.

Annie nodded. "Sort of."

"Alright, we can try it."

The little girl's face split into a wide grin. "Okay!"

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

Later, after the sugar rush wore off, the Lieutenant found himself squashed between the wall and three warm bodies and a doll.

It really wasn't what he signed on for when he began the campout for the wee boo, but he wasn't about to complain.

He wondered if that's what fathers and husbands the world over had to suffer through, arms tingling because they were jammed under their own bodies and little legs kicking in their sleep far too close to his family jewels to make him feel safe and comfortable.

Honestly, he had no clue, he was never a father and only came close to being a husband once. Close only counted in horseshoes though.

Trying to slowly adjust his position to free his arm, he wedged himself deeper against the wall. It was bad enough his legs stuck out over the edge of the small cot, never mind the chill that now cooled his poor Cajun backside from the wall.

Finally freeing his arm, he was faced with the dilemma of what to do with it now that he had it back.

Suddenly he was very aware of just why it was jammed under him.

He couldn't just throw it across the entire group of cot invaders like he did with his right arm, finally he settled on worming it up over the heads of Boo, Annie, the doll with the long assed name that he couldn't really recall at the moment and Grace.

The woman opened her eyes as his hand brushed her hair and he smiled nervously. "Sorry, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle around comfortably."

"Do you want me to leave? Give you some space?"

He hooked his right hand around her waist before she could even move. "No, you're fine where you are. Just needed to rearrange myself."

Grace shifted back on the cot, moving closer to the edge.

"Well, don't back up too far, it's not a far fall, but the floor is harder than it looks," he teased.

"Does that give you more space?" She asked.

He wriggled a little, trying to squirm under Annie so that the girl was sleeping on his chest instead of sprawled out between them. "I think I can manage a bit more if I get creative."

Grace smiled warmly. "Maybe I should go. You need your sleep."

He reached over Annie's little form and pulled the nun in close, leaving his hand draped around her waist. "Naw, it's alright, you're keeping the bed warmer this way."

They fell silent, blinking quietly at each other in the dark.

"I think…I think something happened with Annie's mother," he said softly, keeping from waking Annie. "I think she was bit and bowed out." He hoped by wording it that way even if Annie was awake, she wouldn't fully comprehend the awful truth. "I think the wee boo saw it or at least heard it."

Grace was quiet for a moment, before she moved in closer to Annie and him, wrapping her arms around both of them and laying her head down on his chest beside Annie's.

"Are you sure?" She whispered.

"I'm ninety-five percent on this one."

"What do we do?"

"Nothing," he replied. "There's nothing you can do."

Running her hand over Annie's hair, Grace propped her chin on his chest and eyed him. "I've been so hard on her, this whole time she's been living with this inside her and I've been scolding her."

"Nothing wrong with that," he argued. "You were being a mother to her, that's what they do."

"Yes, while you were giving her hugs and cuddles and everything a poor girl in her situation needs, I've been playing the Wicked Witch." She stated.

"Well, at least you get a really interesting mode of transportation," he teased.

"I'm being serious," she snapped.

"I'm not, that's the beauty of me." He chuckled at her frown and ran his hand up her back. "Don't worry about giving the girl hell once in a while, she needs it."

"You both need it."

He nodded. "And we both love you for it."

"I'm going to remember that the next time you're being a devil and I have to check you back into line." She said with a tiny grin.

He beamed at her.

"I don't know what I'd do without you around here," she whispered, laying her head on his chest once more.

He wasn't sure if it was just the warm feeling of having everyone he loved within reach of him should anything ever happen or maybe it was the sincerity in Grace's tone, but he had the very real urge to lock his arms around the girls and never let them go.

Maybe he was just coming around to the idea that people actually wanted him around, that he was really needed.

That incentive to come back to them that Grace was talking about earlier was suddenly there, offered up to him on a silver platter and she wasn't even aware she had offered it to him.

He had a better reason to come back from Woodbury other than mere survival and they were curled up in his cot, draped over his body.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Raison** – Reason, correct thinking.


	48. Ouvrage

**Brazen Hussy - ^_^**

**peonies01 - Why not both? Both is good? Grayface. I have spoken.**

**skittletitz - *covers ears***

**Lilone1776 - I wonder if anyone's caught on that Philomena was the Patron Saint of Children...?**

**GG - I honestly struggled with that. But I put myself in the shoes of a mother...I don't think I'd like to leave a child to their fate (facing walkers alone), but I also think Annie's mom probably just couldn't bring herself to end her daughter's life...I like to think her mom was a good one.**

**ldyjaydin - I understand those emotions completely. They're just dicking us Caryl fans along on the damned show...**

**HGRHfan35 - Aw, cute story. So adorable! ^_^**

**Axelrocks - I freakin' love blanket forts (and I'm wicked old...so...) I don't think you ever grow out of that fort phase.**

**Surplus Imagination - Well, thank you very much! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter.**

**MollyMayhem84 - You can have all the crushes on the Lt. you want. I'm sure he'd be flattered.**

**Arieanna - Oh gosh, thank you! First time reviewers are always much beloved! Thank you for being so kind and taking the time to review. ^_^**

**AFishNamedSushi - Haha! I was wondering when someone would bring up the 'Little Orphan Annie' remark. This pleases me! And for this I have deemed that you rock harder than I ever could! ^_^**

**SilverWolf84 - Ack, that mire! I hope I'm avoiding it for the most part! Thanks for the review!**

**Anyone sick and tired of my crazy assed Canadian spelling yet? Anyone sick with the ridiculous length of this story yet? Holy balls! It's just a monster, isn't it? Yikes.**

**So, due to obvious reasons, Logistics Marine Base in Georgia's layout plans are not available to every Tom, Dick and Spy, so despite my need to be as accurate as I can be, I must admit that the entire layout of the base is bullshit made up by me. There. I've warned you.**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Eight: Ouvrage**

****Daryl****

"What was your daddy like?"

They had stopped along the way to the base and added an extended cab truck to their caravan of two worn old pickups, mostly so that those they were with didn't have to ride in the back all the way there.

Beside Daryl in the flashy assed new truck the Cajun sat quiet for half of the ride before bombing him with that question.

Daryl glanced up in the rear view mirror and met his brother's eyes.

"He was a real son of a bitch and that was when he was sober. Why?"

"Curiosity."

"Hey, Cajun boy," Michonne purred from her spot in the back (where to Daryl's amazement she hadn't tried to kill Merle yet), "why are you so curious about father's?"

Angling in his seat, the Cajun eyed the woman. "You ever try to raise a little girl?"

"No."

"Me neither."

"Hey, dumb ass, I have a joke for you," Merle grunted from his spot. "Two hunters head into New Orleans—"

"Where the hell is this 'New Orleans'?" The Lieutenant teased, mimicking Merle's Georgian accent.

"Don't pull that dumb Cajun bullshit with me," Merle snapped.

Daryl glanced in the mirror with a small grin, watching as his brother tried to stop himself from reaching up with his good hand and smacking the back of Fay's head.

"Oh, you're trying to say _Nawlins_, sure yeah, go ahead, tell your little joke."

"Fuck you."

Michonne startled everyone by chuckling darkly.

That seemed to put an end to the bickering for about ten minutes.

Sniffing, the Cajun cleared his throat. "Are we just going to ignore the fact that Baby Boy Dixon got his hair cut?"

"It was about damned time," Merle growled, "he was starting to look like one of those shaggy horses."

"I will pull this goddamned truck over and beat all your asses." Daryl snarled.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

The base was a little oasis of military khaki and simple cinder block buildings nestled in amongst the green Georgian countryside. It sprawled at least a half a mile in every direction, with main buildings just beyond the chain link gate and the helipad on the far end. The only reason it remained untouched was how well hidden it was, as a military base it wasn't on any map and unless you knew it was there, it was as easy to miss the turn off onto the lonely dirt road as it was to miss the one to the convent.

As the caravan pulled up to the gate, they could see the walkers inside, all of them military personnel who had been trapped much the same way the prisoners had been, within the chain link fence.

This was actually better news than if the place had been empty of walkers. Military and military only walkers meant the place hadn't been picked over by scavengers yet. All the good stuff must still be held within.

Hopping out of their vehicles to hold a quick meeting, Daryl approached Rick and Tyreese who had opted to travel together in the shitty old brown Chevy, Glenn and Maggie joining up from their truck.

"Alright, Lieutenant," Rick said. "From this point on , I'm putting you in charge of the raid, you know the place best."

The Lieutenant looked mildly surprised at the sudden promotion from just a tag along into a leader, but eventually nodded. "Alright," he looked up from their huddle at the base, eyes darting across it quickly, before he nodded again. "Okay. There's a lot of them, most are wearing their helmets which makes braining them next to impossible…we have a few days supplies, yeah?"

"What do you want to do, Fay?" Daryl asked.

"We'll take it slow, cautious, bring them to the fence and get as many as we can. A thinner herd is better than facing all of them at once. If we can at least get in and secure one building before nightfall, then we can take our time here and pick over the leavings for the good stuff."

Despite the fact Rick had handed over command, everyone looked to him for a final say.

He nodded. "Good a plan as any."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

It took them all three hours of stabbing through the fence before a good majority of the walkers were down, those stragglers way off in the distance were still catching on to the fact that a fresh meal was waiting at the barrier between the base and the woods, but they were catching on fast and moving faster.

They met back at the gate after all the visible walkers were taken care of.

"We'll take one truck in until we clear the base," the Lieutenant ordered. "I don't like the idea of not leaving us a quick getaway on the outside."

Everyone nodded.

"Once inside we'll clear out HQ first, it's got the sturdier windows and doors, we can hole up in there come the dark, then continue on in the morning."

Daryl wasn't really a fan of authority. It came with being raised a white trash kid who often broke the law out of necessity (or sometimes just boredom), but he had to admit he didn't mind following the Cajun's orders when he got in his military frame of mind. Maybe it was because, like Rick, Fay had his back on more than one occasion and it forged some form of respect between them.

"Once inside HQ and it's clear, we'll break off into pairs to go through the place for things, we'll make two piles near the door, a pile for things we need and a pile for things we'd like, we'll do this in all the buildings, loading the things we need first. If there's room we'll go through the things we'd like and pack them up as well. Once this base is clear, there's no guarantee it'll remain untouched after we leave, so we'll have to make the best of this trip, yeah?"

The others nodded.

"Alright, Daryl when we get up to HQ, I want you behind me in the lead, you have the sharpest eyes and I'll need another pair of good ones at my back, Merle you get to play Tail-End Charlie, I know you'll be good to watch for uggies and our people too."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

They stormed into HQ, weapons at ready, tense like predators, sweeping through the offices and communications centre.

Inside a narrow hall that was lined with doors, the group paused to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

It smelled of decay and the faint scent of gunpowder, signs of walkers were painted on the walls in old blood as they all stepped over a smudge of gore that seemed to be all that remained of someone.

Breaking up into pairs to clean the HQ out, Daryl and the Cajun carefully swept each room they came across mindful of other members of their group who had moved deep into the HQ building. They moved down the hall, heading for the stairs at the far end.

Their first task was to clear the building, then secure it and finally start going through the rooms for things they could use. Bursting into an office, they took out two walkers with little effort, sweeping it carefully.

They paused only long enough to eye the sloppily painted message on the wall, 'don't give up boys', before moving on.

Each room had a message in paint on the wall, like end-of-days self-motivational posters; never give in, kill every last one of them, until your hands are raw, don't stop, but every room they entered contained at least one walker, all of them emaciated and torn open in the soft part of their belly. But they all wore military uniforms and they all were once soldiers.

Daryl kept one eye trained on his surroundings, but every now and then he would turn the other on the Lieutenant, reading his face for signs that the man recognized any of the walkers they were putting down.

He had worked, possibly bunked at the base, so there was a good chance the man would come across familiar faces.

But there was little to no emotion on his face as he worked, he remained passive, well trained and professional. At least he was until they hopped up the stairs, heading for the office at the end of the hall.

The man seemed to slow, hesitate as they passed by a multitude of bodies that were lying knee deep in the hall the closer they got to the end.

The Cajun nosed the door of the office open with the business end of his rifle, pushing inside quietly.

Inside the walls were painted with blood and motivational words, but it didn't seem to have worked as a body slumped in the chair behind the desk, half of its head missing, blown off by the pistol that was still clenched in its hand.

On the desk Daryl picked up a piece of paper that had been scrawled with the writing 'twenty-eight confirmed, Atlanta gone, makes twenty-nine'. Under it was a note, 'to whoever finds this cold clay, may God have mercy on you'.

"The old man must have held out quite a while," Daryl said, putting the papers back on the desk.

The Cajun was stooping down, picking up a stiff beaked military officer's cap, turning it over in his hands quietly. It must have been on the corpse's head when the man decided to end it, as part of it was singed from the gunshot and dappled with blood.

"Colonel Davenport had thirteen grandchildren," the Cajun said, carefully putting the hat back on the man's head, covering the missing chunk of his skull with a reverent gentleness. "Defan," the Lieutenant muttered quietly.

"Yeah, well with that many walkers at his front door, I'm amazed he made it long enough to write out a love note," Daryl replied, turning from studying the room to find the Lieutenant quietly eyeing the corpse, standing at his side. "Hey? Let's get plundering," he growled, not really good at the type of emotional support the Cajun obviously needed at the moment.

He didn't know what the old man meant to him, but it was obvious Fay cared for him beyond just admiring the soldier.

Moving across the room, he pulled the pistol out of the corpse's death grip, then patted the man's skeletal corpse down for spare bullets and anything else of use, before motioning with a jerk of his chin in the direction of the door. "Come on, we ain't got all day."

"Yeah, right behind you."

Hurrying out of the room to avoid the awkward situation, Daryl glanced back to find Fay removing the Colonel's dog tags from around the corpse's neck, before saluting him quickly.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

That night the others laughed about the things they found, the amount of loose ammo found on the military walkers, the weapons that seemed to be scattered about just the office building alone.

They were excited at the prospect of finding enough fire power to not only fight Woodbury, but to keep them safe for a good handful of years to come.

Daryl wasn't sure why, but he wasn't really in a celebrating mood.

It may have been the fact that before any of this ever happened, he would have never thought celebrating a lifeless military base would be something joyous.

Or it may have had something to do with the Cajun who sat by himself in a corner of the room, quietly dismantling and reassembling his rifle as though he were slapped back into basic.

Wishing someone other than him took note of the man's mood so that they could deal with it, Daryl found no one but him even glancing in the direction of the Cajun.

At least until he spied Michonne giving the man quiet, dark looks.

She glanced in Daryl's direction and he did his best to avoid her gaze, studying the combat knife in his hands. He ran a finger over the word etched there and hoped things would smooth themselves out.

Taking a quick glance he found Michonne eyeing him with a steady, cat-like gaze, before she flicked her eyes back in the direction of the Lieutenant.

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek and went back to studying the knife.

With a huff, after a few minutes of fighting it, he stood up and made his way across the room, heading for the Cajun.

Slumping down at the man's side, Daryl watched him slide the bolt back and check the chamber for a round.

"Hey," he nudged the soldier with his elbow, bumping him in the ribs lightly. "You alright?"

"Sure enough, yeah," the man replied, setting his rifle down.

Daryl nodded, dangling his hands between his knees and bowing his head. God, he didn't know what to say to people in need of support. He wasn't exactly the hug-and-tell-me-about-your-feelings type.

Hell, he wasn't even sure the Cajun wanted him to fuss over him like he was.

"You close with him? The Colonel?" He chanced nervously.

"He was a good man," the Lieutenant replied.

Fuck the dumb assed Cajun was making consolation difficult! Daryl sighed heavily and was about to get up a leave, when Michonne eased down on the other side of the Lieutenant, casually, as though unaware of their conversation.

"Seems kind of morbid to me," she stated evenly. "Prying ammunition and weapons from the dead hands of soldiers."

Daryl and the Lieutenant both looked at her.

"A necessary evil," she went on, turning omnipotent eyes on the men. "What's eating you tonight, Cajun boy?" She asked in her straightforward way. "You've been over here playing with your gun for nearly two hours."

The Lieutenant blinked back at Michonne for a moment, before dropping his chin an inch. "I'm fine."

"The mere fact that you answered her in two words or less means you ain't," Daryl growled.

"Well, I'm not as fine as I'd like you to believe," the Cajun stated. "Most of these uggies were once people I worked with, people I knew, but…you swallow it and you survive, yeah?"

"You can only swallow so much," Michonne pointed out.

"I was hoping - a little bit - that he'd have made it out," Fay went on. "But…he died serving this country, like a good Marine." He eyed both Daryl and Michonne. "I'm disappointed, but not suicidal…just disappointed." The Lieutenant grinned then, it was plastic and forced, but still retained some of that crooked Cajun charm the man's grin possessed. "I'll be good come morning, just need a recovery period."

"Fuck! You two are like a couple of mother hen's," Merle growled as he stood over them all. "Leave the man some space! Shit!"

The Lieutenant smirked. "Thank you, Merle."

Slapping the Cajun upside the head hard, Merle scowled. "Hey, get your head back in the game! Anything happens to you, I'm going back to that convent and mounting your nun, dumb ass."

To Daryl's surprise the Cajun chuckled.

"I appreciate your incentive, Merle." Fay said.

"That's not incentive, it's a goddamned promise," Merle muttered, moving off, back towards the rest of the group. "Like we need to be worrying about your mopey ass..."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Ouvrage** - Work


	49. Au Ras De

**JackAndHoney - I know, Mr. Reedus' hair is beginning to get ridiculously long now. Thanks for the review!**

**skittletitz - But you have to admit you love him for it, right?**

**HGRHfan35 - I never put much stock into spoilers. Honestly, unless it actually happens on the show, then how the hell do all these people know what's going on for sure? Besides, AMC can't be so foolish as to think they wouldn't lose fans if they killed off a beloved character. I don't know about you, but it doesn't matter how good the show is, once my favourite character dies, the show ends for me.**

**Brazen Hussy - At least Michonne doesn't want to automatically kill Merlewhenever he opens his mouth or looks at her anymore. Baby steps, right? ^_^**

**Lilone1776 - I agree. Those poor Dixon's have been through hell. They both need hugs...though Daryl might stab you if you try...Merle might do worse...maybe that's why he killed Neil...? Can it be proven Neil was moving in for a hug? (In my mind, yes, yes it was).**

**peonies01 -I find I lean more towards good characters than a good plot when I write. Which reminds me, sorry to everyone for the bad plot of this story...but please enjoy the characters! ^_^ Thanks for the review, my friend!**

**MollyMayhem84 - I think Merle is like Daryl in some ways, he can be kind, but he's still a bad ass who doesn't like showing his soft side. That being said, I'm hoping Merle and the Lt. can develop a fairly good, solid brotherhood, because Merle needs a friend.  
**

**Supfan - Yeah, things are coming together and I'm getting nervous as well. This is after all TWD and people die randomly on the show, therefore they must die randomly in fanfiction. That's the rule I gave myself when I started this story.**

**GG - I agree. I think the Lt. is one of those people who cope well with heavy things. I mean, he'd have to be used to it, being a soldier who saw battle and such, I think he's used to it.**

**Surplus Imagination - I find sometimes on the show they tend to do things the hard way and over dramatize other things. I mean really. I love the show to death, but it's rather ridiculous at times.**

**Axelrocks - Merle should be a counselor of sorts. Help people post-ZA deal with their issues.**

**Laura - Well, thank you very much! And may good things come your way in life, my friend! ^_^ **

**Hey all, I'm updating so fast because I have time again to write and write and write...so nag me not, children, for I come with a chapter update and you'll like it or lump it!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Nine: Au Ras De**

****The Lieutenant****

They had split come morning, into two teams to clear out the barracks, moving down the line of ten clapboard buildings.

Eyeing the distance where their munitions bunker ducts and air shafts poked up through the dry grass, the Cajun kept guard at the open door as his team stacked things into two neat piles just outside it as they went through Dormitory 8. It was built in the ground to prevent air strike bombings from using their own firepower against them, but that didn't exactly serve in their favour.

It would be the hardest to get into, since they couldn't find the keys and all the electronic locks were down without power coursing through the base, but he was beginning to get an idea on how to get at the ammo and guns locked within without having to destroy half the goods.

He wasn't sure of the state of the service tunnels that ran under the base, but he knew they lead around the entire area like little hamster pipes and he knew each tunnel end had an entrance that popped up in the floor of a building. He also knew that one of the tunnels ended in a heavy door that opened into the munitions bunker.

Spotting a stray uggie in the distance, coming from the helipad area, the Lieutenant raised his rifle to his shoulder to peer down his scope and get a better view of it, when he realized he didn't have his scope attached to Marie anymore.

He lowered the gun and eyeballed the creature, before taking the wind into account, doing the mental calculations, he raised it again and took aim, adjusting it for the effects of the wind and distance variables, caressing the trigger with his finger, he barely flinched as the bullet was fired and the uggie went down, half his head bursting open like a smashed melon, spraying grey matter and blackened blood everywhere.

The Lieutenant smirked a little in self-satisfaction, he kind of missed the power Marie brought with her powerful .308 rounds.

Rick poked his head out at the sound of the gunshot.

"Stray," the Cajun explained casually.

"We're almost done inside."

"I have no problem keeping watch, take your time."

Rick lingered for a moment, leaning against the door frame, squinting at the sunny base around them.

"I used to think I had to put on a good act for the sake of the group," he said carefully, as though weighing each word with his tongue before allowing it to spill forth. "But it rides you hard after a while. You can't keep it all in. It just pushes on your brain until you can't think straight."

The Lieutenant eyed the other man for a moment in mild confusion. "Bet you ten rounds of .357 shot that you can't figure out which bunk in this barracks is mine," he said with a grin.

Rick furrowed his brow at the Cajun. "You need to deal with your loss at some point, Lieutenant."

"I should warn you, though, I booby trapped my toiletry bag, Delgado had a habit of snaking my toothpaste, goddamned corps was so cheap with the toothpaste, couldn't find any for love nor money."

Glancing around, Rick shifted on his feet and placed his hands on his hips. "You see him around here? Walking about? Trying to chew on our faces?"

"Oh, probably, he was down with a broken toe when we left, probably come across him in the infirmary, he liked to go there during his off time to hit on the base doctor."

Rick nodded. "I'm sorry, I know these men were your brothers. But we need these things to survive."

"I'm not upset about the things, Rick. I understand we have to let the body's drop where they fall. I'm not even upset about the lack of time to bury them. I just…I wish we could find all of them and put them down. I don't like the idea of them out there, walking around biting innocents and I don't think they'd like the idea of it either. See, my job was to take them out before they could do any real damage, but you can't take them all out if they're being bitten and dying all around you."

"Is that what happened with your platoon?"

"A majority of them. We had come across this small town, quaint, kind of picture perfect, like something out of a Harper Lee novel, where it's beauty and simplicity was marred by something sinister lurking just out of sight. It was quiet enough, so our Lieutenant at the time, he ordered us to stroll down main street, looking for survivors, which was part of our mission. The entire town was upon us in less than two minutes, blocking our path out and in. We were given the order to pull the trigger until it clicked and I did, but…towards the end I was putting down Marines, members of the platoon who were bitten. There was only nine of us left after that and our Lieutenant was on his way out fast, so I put the barrel of my rifle to his temple and he was kind enough to promote me before I pulled the trigger. I don't regret it, none of us did. No one wants to walk around like one of those things."

The sound of a mousetrap snapping sharply followed by Glenn's cussing distracted them from the tale at hand and the Cajun grinned slyly. "Sounds like your boy Glenn found my things, guess you lose, Rick."

"I like your style, Lieutenant, I ever tell you that?" Rick asked.

"We have a saying down on the bayou, '_ne collez pas votre main dans des gators disent du bout des lèvres, parce qu'il n'a aucune affaire étant là'_." He dropped his pack and dug through it, before Rick could leave, pulling out a box of .357 ammo and tossing it at the man. "You didn't win, but I really can't use these anyway."

Catching it, the ex-cop nodded. "Thanks. But what the hell did you just say to me?"

"Don't stick your hand in a gators mouth, because it has no business being there. You may want to pass that piece of wisdom on to your boy."

Rick nodded. "I'll probably give him the English version."

"Your choice. Semper fi, brother."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

As the group filed out of Dormitory 8, Glenn passed off a smallish alligator shaped toiletry bag to the Lieutenant with a growl. To the untrained eye it would look just like a child's stuffed animal, but inside was a months worth of rationed toiletries, razors and toothpaste and the likes.

"I hope whatever is in here is worth it," Glenn snapped, nursing his fingers.

"Sorry, Glenn, no hard feelings, could have been any one of you." Unzipping the mouth of the alligator, the Lieutenant dipped his hand in and pulled out a couple packets of condoms, handing them over to the young Asian man. "Here, have a date night on me for your troubles."

Glowering, Glenn took the condoms and stuffed them in his jeans pocket. "How can I with a broken finger?"

"Ah, you're a smart man, you'll get creative." Clapping the man on the back companionably, the Lieutenant lead them off in the direction of the next barracks over, skipping 9 as the other team were going through it, Michonne at the door keeping an eye out for uggies.

She nodded to them as they passed.

"Anything interesting yet?" Rick asked as they paused near her to chat.

"Personal things, some other lady stuff," she growled.

"Sounds good," Rick returned.

"Barracks 9 was the women's barracks, they should be finding all sorts of…things in there for our women." The Lieutenant pointed out.

"Thank God I didn't pull that team's number," Tyreese muttered from behind them. "Just thinking of those little packets of lady things makes my skin crawl."

"Yeah, Dixon boys outta be rolling in the clover in there," the Cajun stated with a grin. "They even have one of those candy machine things in the bathroom, they might get some of those…items out of it…well I…I _heard_ they had one." Clearing his throat the man shot Michonne an uncomfortable smile.

"Um-hm." She returned.

"And you just happened to have pulled door duty?" Glenn demanded of Michonne.

The woman smirked darkly. "Pure coincidence."

"You're a mean woman, Michonne," Tyreese pointed out.

Eyeing the grounds around them, Rick frowned.

"Think we could get one of those military trucks running? Might be able to take more with us when we leave," he suggested, motioning to a lineup of green trucks parked at the edge of the training field.

"Yeah, only problem is we'll get one shot of it, they run on diesel." The Lieutenant said. "We can fill her up at the pump here, but that'll be the end of her once we get back to the convent."

"We'll only need it for that journey anyways." He motioned to where the helicopters sat across the field from the trucks. "We can load the missiles onto it, they might fit better anyways."

"Sounds good to me."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

Dropping into the service tunnel through a floor access in the HQ building, the Cajun looked about.

They had fired up the diesel generator long enough for them to walk the tunnel system without having to worry about an uggie coming out of the darkness at them.

Rick dropped down beside him, eyeing the drab yellowed paint of the tunnel walls.

Their group had decided to take the task of getting into the munitions bunker while the others inspected the infirmary for medicines and the likes they could use.

"Which way?" Rick asked.

Tyreese and Glenn joined them, eyeing the tunnel as well.

Getting his bearings, the Cajun frowned and pointed to his right. "This way, then it'll have to be a left turn. Now, caution, I've never actually been down here, I just know that there's a door from the bunker into the tunnels for emergency purposes."

"Think there's a risk of walkers being down here?" Rick asked as they started down the tunnel.

"Could be, uggies get everywhere, don't they?"

"Seems like it."

Twisting down the tunnels they took a left at the first intersection, which brought them to a ladder and a surface exit. Which meant it wasn't the correct tunnel, they needed a door not a ladder.

Back tracking their steps, they began again, heading down the original tunnel.

"Anyone else feel like a mouse in a maze?" Tyreese asked.

"Let's hope there's edam at the end and not a pile of walkers," Glenn added.

Reaching another intersection, they were shocked into absolute stillness at the sight of six to seven uggies just milling about in the tunnel to their right.

It looked like some of the men had set up a little nest down here to wait out the threat on the surface, because there were empty cans of rations and such strewn about at their feet and bedrolls laid out.

It seemed like a second before both sides reacted, their group suddenly raising their weapons as the uggies descended on them quickly.

Tripping over an empty can, Glenn was knocked to the ground, an uggie on him quick as a rabbit.

Using the butt of his rifle to prevent firing in the confined space of the tunnel, the Lieutenant knocked the uggie upside the head, pushing it off Glenn long enough for the man to recover, seeing Glenn was okay and free to defend himself again, the Cajun spun around finding his rifle knocked out of his grip by another living corpse.

Thinking quickly, the Cajun raised his hand and back handed the uggie off course as it went for his face, knocking it against the wall, where Rick swung in with the butt of his own rifle, smashing its face in.

Everyone eyed the area around them for a moment, expecting more.

"Anyone bit?" Rick asked.

Everyone shook their heads.

"Alright, let's move out." Rick commanded.

"Did anyone else notice the Lt. just pimp slapped the hell out of a walker?" Glenn whispered. "If this were a video game he'd probably get bonus points for finesse."

Picking up his rifle, the Cajun grimaced. "I'm getting rusty in my old age," he admitted, before casting an easy grin at the younger man. "Do you still hate me for snapping your fingers in a mousetrap, _Texian_?"

Glenn shrugged. "We'll see how I feel come date night."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

By the time they reached the bunker door, they were getting hungry and tired of backtracking through the twisting tunnel system of the base.

But the Lieutenant knew it was the right door by the strict 'No Smoking' sign beside it. Not that smoking was allowed anywhere on the base, but the sign was there to cover military asses in case smokers set their munitions stockpile ablaze.

He eyed the door. It was a heavy duty metal one, but it was older and had hinges that were just right for popping up and off.

Glenn stepped in with a mini crowbar and pried the bolts out of the hinges while Rick and Tyreese held the door up.

Finally they all stepped back and allowed the heavy door to fall to the floor with a thud and the ringing of metal on concrete, before hopping over it into the bunker.

There was a lot of ammunition missing after the base sent out platoons to defend and search for survivors, but there was enough weapons and metal crates of ammo left in the bunker to cause Tyreese to mutter, "we're going to need another truck."

"Anyone else weirdly excited right now?" Glenn asked as he gaped at the stuff they had just discovered, causing Rick to give him an odd look.

"Yeah, I'm hard as steel," the Lieutenant admitted, earning him the same odd look from Rick.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Au Ras De** – Next to; on the side of.


	50. Mojo

**ImOrca - I really need to find a way to write Glenn into the story more...I love him so much. I just...so many characters and plots need addressing...dang it...I promise more Glenn will be seen in this story.**

**SilverWolf84 - I know. Too much good luck, someone needs to die...**

**Peta2 - I wish I were an Army Brat, my life would probably have much more structure...though I wouldn't be an internet geek and therefore wouldn't be writing stories like this...ah, life choices, interesting. ^_^ Thanks for saying it seemed authentic, never being on an army base, I had to write the base due to army bases I've seen on such classic films as G.I. Jane and Major Payne...though I think Major Payne was at an ROTC...either way...quality film. *dies a little***

**HGRHfan35 - Ugh, I'd imagine coffee in the nose would be worse that soda pop...yikes...^_^ Thanks for the review! Hope you have a great week!**

**Brazen Hussy - Ah! I need to have a scene where they come across such a suit and hat and Glenn can be all 'remember that time you pimp slapped a walker? Well I got you something...' I think Merle would handle it better than Daryl, Merle seems like he's been around more women than Daryl. That being said Daryl is used to getting tampons for the ladies of the group...so...**

**Lilone1776 - You asked for a chapter of the Dixon's at Camp Femme, and you get one! How about them apples?**

**skittletitz - Have you ever been snapped by a mousetrap, it's an experience one does not easily forget about...**

**Laura - I'm not a huge Michonne fan either, she comes off as too obviously bad ass and it just doesn't strike me as all that realistic. That being said, I do love her as a character with potential, if they'd only tone down the bad ass thing a bit.**

**Supfan - Coool, great review! ^_^**

**AFishNamedSushi - Never apologize, I do upload wicked fast sometimes...this story just flows like the Nile and I've had very little writer's block with it (knock on wood). I agree, Rick is probably so chill about lady things by now...I know for a fact he's picked some up on the way home a time or two (all good husbands have and he seems like a good one).**

**Surplus Imagination - I should - at some point - work in a battery operated marital aid...soon...*rubs hands together evilly***

**GG - Oh yeah, like you've never gotten a stiffie from seeing a metric shit-ton of ordinance...riiiiight...XD I was so tempted to write 'we're going to need a bigger boat', but in all honesty they need a truck...my Tyreese (because there hasn't been much show Tyreese), is practical. Why would they need a boat? (I'm being sarcastic...it doesn't sell well in type). ^_^**

**I wasn't going to do this, but a few of you wanted to see the Dixon's adventures in Girlstown, so without further ado, THE ADVENTURES OF THE DIXON BROS. IN GIRLSTOWN!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty: Mojo**

****Daryl****

Dormitory 9 was, apparently, the women's barracks.

Daryl wouldn't have known as he searched through the first trunk he came to, except for the fact that when he began going through the toiletry bag he came up with a lot more make-up then the average military man needed.

The tampons threw him for a moment too.

Behind him Merle was going through a trunk of his own and coming to the same conclusion.

Both Dixon's exchanged quick, awkward glances over their shoulders at the other, before going on with their work.

A smashing sound from the bathroom where Maggie had disappeared, had both men on their feet, heading to her aid.

She stood before a condom machine type thing, watching as female items poured out of the crushed front.

Maggie offered them a nervous smile and they both glared at her in mild disinterest.

"No, walker," she said, eyeing him and only him. The woman still hadn't brought herself to forgive Merle for what he did to her, but she was sensible to deal with it in small amounts. Lately she just ignored his presence, which served everyone fine. "Just pads and tampons."

Daryl felt his upper lip draw back in a flinching sneer, before he stepped back into the main room.

Sure he had brought the women plenty of lady things in the past, but it didn't mean he was comfortable with the subject. Maybe he had a hard time comprehending how a woman could bleed so long without dying or passing out. It wasn't logical in his mind.

He honestly couldn't fault women for hating the process, he wouldn't enjoy bleeding non-stop and having to cram something inside him to…

…he just weirded himself out.

Glancing over at Merle as they went back to going through the trunks for useful things, he cleared his throat.

"Hey, Merle?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is this?" He held up a small metal device that had handles like a pair of scissors, but ended in a thing that looked like the top and bottom to a set of false teeth, only the edges were smooth and the curve was inverted.

His brother eyed the thing. "Whatever it is, it's probably not important."

"That's an eyelash curler," Maggie said, on her way to the door to stack up an armful of lady things beside it in the 'need' pile. "And it's completely useless."

Tossing it aside, Daryl dug into the trunk again.

"Why the hell isn't Michonne in here going through this shit?" Merle snarled.

"Because she just happened to have volunteered for door duty," Maggie chirped, heading back into the bathroom.

"My ass."

"Mine too, woman scouted ahead, she knew what we were in for," Daryl growled.

Picking up a round compact of what looked like candy, Daryl held it up for his brother to investigate.

"Birth control," Merle pointed out casually.

"Looks like Pez candy," Daryl muttered setting the thing in his 'need' pile beside him.

"Think we could convince Glenn that's what they are?" Merle asked.

"I think you're already on his shit list, so you'd better watch yourself."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Maggie stated marching past with more things for the pile.

"Jesus, are you ever going to unbunch your panties around me, woman?" Merle demanded.

"Merle," Daryl warned, shaking his head at his brother. "Don't start."

"Fuck them, they want to hold grudges they can eat my ass," Merle growled back.

Maggie paused beside him, her hands folding. "Do you know what kind of hell you cause people, Merle? You're a mean, vicious asshole of a human being and you don't even care!"

Daryl pushed to his feet as Merle did the same, eyeing Maggie with that mean look he got.

"Watch your tone with me little lady, I'm a believer in equal rights and I'll slap you down just like I'd do any man that spoke to me like that."

"Try it, you big bully," she growled, pushing her face in his.

Merle grinned.

Daryl's blood froze, he knew exactly what was coming and he already had his own hand up, grabbing Merle's by the wrist just inches before his palm could make contact with Maggie's face.

He restrained his brother with a firm grip. "Merle, get back to work," he ordered, eyeing the two as Maggie glared at his big brother.

Pursing his lips at Maggie, Merle chuckled. "Maybe another time, sweetheart."

"Anytime, Merle," she returned. "See, cause I'm not afraid of you like you'd like."

Yanking his arm out of Daryl's grip, Merle turned his back boldly on Maggie and went back to digging through things, while Daryl eyed the farmer's daughter for a moment. He was sure an apology was needed, but not from him.

Wasn't his damned fault Merle liked to piss people off.

Still, he shifted his weight from left leg to right and looked down. "Sorry," he said softly, hoping his brother wouldn't hear.

Maggie looked at him with a small, forced grin, reaching out to grip his upper arm kindly, before going back into the bathroom.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

They were halfway through the trunks when Merle tossed a pile of condoms into Daryl's lap.

He winked down at his baby brother.

"Those are precious commodities, best keep them for yourself and we won't tell anyone about it," he teased.

Daryl scoffed and set them in the 'need' pile. "Don't need them."

"Oh, she holdin' out on you with sex, baby bro?"

"Carol can't have any more kids," he pointed out.

"Even better, rubbers ruin the game," Merle replied.

"Yeah? How'd the post-game clap work out for you?" Daryl shot back.

"Fuck off."

Smirking proudly to himself, Daryl went back to sorting through things for useful items, when his brother spoke again.

"You disappointed?" Merle asked.

"What?"

Looking over his shoulder, Daryl found Merle eyeing him.

"You broken up over that? Not having kids?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I'd probably be a shit dad anyways," he admitted.

"Bullshit to that," Merle growled, moving his body so that he knelt facing Daryl's back.

Daryl turned as well, eyeing his brother.

"I figure you do everything opposite of what our daddy did, you'd be one hell of a father," his big brother said. "Besides, you always were the sweet one. Figure you'd make an alright daddy."

It was the first compliment Daryl ever recalled getting from his brother that didn't end in an insult or a threat of bodily harm and it threw him off his defense with Merle.

"I wish you had a better life, baby brother," Merle admitted. "Of the two of us, you deserved it most."

Daryl flinched, not sure how to react to Merle's sudden kindness.

"Of course I'm the better looking one, so I figured you were due for something good," his brother added with a grin, turning back to his work.

There it was, Merle had returned to his old self and all was back to normal in the walker filled world at the end of days.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

Before they headed for the infirmary later that day, the Cajun caught Daryl's sleeve and asked him if he would bring him the dog tags of any Marines he took out.

Up until that point the man had been content to collect his own, but now he was asking Daryl to do it with a curious lilt that thickened his Cajun accent.

When they entered the infirmary and took out several trapped walkers, he moved among them quickly and collected the tags, before they began going through their loot, not really thinking much about the Cajuns request.

But that night as they secluded themselves in the HQ building again, bragging about their finds, the Cajun sorted through the tags Daryl brought him, before smiling widely.

"Thanks, _cabri_," he said.

"Something please you?" He asked.

"Looking for a friend, but…he's not here, so…small hopes, yeah?" The man stated with a grin.

Daryl nodded.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

Later that night, Daryl and the Lieutenant sat on watch together at the back door into the building, eyeing the narrow slats they had left in the boards to peer out at the night, keeping an eye out for walkers.

"You think more on being a daddy?" Daryl asked the Cajun.

Easing back in his rolling office chair, the Lieutenant stretched his long legs out before him. "Sure have, yeah. I was thinking about this last night and I have a theory."

Daryl waited for him to share, when it was apparent he was waiting for permission, the youngest Dixon snarled, "am I going to have to press it out of you?"

"Well, I was giving it some thought and…I guess maybe it's why I took Colonel Davenport's death so hard. See I sort of…deep down I guess, I thought of him as a…you know. Well, the thing I liked about him was that he wasn't afraid to let you know that he was proud of you, of the work you did, the things you accomplished." Shrugging the Lieutenant sighed. "Maybe that's a good sort of father to be, yeah? Couldn't hurt to let the kid know you love them too. Keep them safe and happy and even if you are disappointed in them and the choices they make, you never stop loving them. Course as a bastard boy with a rapist daddy and a man who's daddy seemed shifty as all hell, you and I are the worst sort to theorize properly on what it takes to be a father."

Thinking on this for a moment, Daryl bowed his head to his hands and picked at a hangnail idly.

"I wish I could have found Sophia alive," Daryl admitted suddenly. "Girl had a shit daddy, she deserved to know what a good one was."

"Carol's husband was a—"

"Son of bitch."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Beat her?"

"And Sophia too, I'm sure. Things feel unfinished," he added. "With Sophia gone, things feel unfinished…I don't know why. They just do. I used to watch her and Carol together, maybe then I wanted to be with them, you know? Just the three of us…but I wasn't good then, still not good enough for Carol. I always liked to be close to them, they'd huddle together and I'd be lingering nearby like some kind of creep and…maybe if I was with them then, if they were mine, Sophia wouldn't have gotten chased into the woods and Carol'd be a lot happier."

The Cajun's grey eyes studied him quietly, so calmly, before he spoke. "I'd die a thousand times if I could bring Sophia back to you. I would," he insisted. "What's the life of a silly Cajun boy compared to the life of a baby girl who barely had a chance to live? But…words can't do much more than be heard, I can't bring her back just by saying that, though I do mean it. I'd love for it to be true. I think it would make you happy, content. And you deserve to be. Of anyone I've ever met, I think I'd like you to be happy most of all. You always do things for everyone but yourself and you still think you're not good enough for Carol, but Jesus H., Daryl, the woman adores you. You can just see it in the sparkle of her eye and I think you make her happier than you'll ever know."

Daryl sneered a little at the man, but said nothing. He really wasn't used to such high praise and it made him uncomfortable.

"I don't know much about family, mine was pretty broken, but I think we're all family now, which is why I want nothing but good things for you and yours."

Not sure what to say, Daryl bit the inside of his cheek. "Hey," he finally uttered, "you have a thing for that nun of yours?"

"I shouldn't," the man replied simply. "God knows it'll send me straight to hell…but I can't help it. I want her close to me where I can take care of her better, make sure she's happy and safe. Sleep in the same bed as her, so that I can watch over her and the wee boo when they sleep, so they don't have to wake up scared or…needing something, anything."

"I get you," Daryl nodded. He really did, it was the same way he felt during the winter, when Carol would sleep close enough to him that he felt a little less tense, wondering where she was, if she was safe. It was the reason he slept easier now with her in his bed and his arms.

"Maybe it'll be the death of me, yeah?" The Cajun teased. "Falling in love with a nun, can't be good with God…"

"I dunno," Daryl replied. "If he's as loving and merciful as they claim, he shouldn't have a problem with it."

Reaching into his pocket, the Lieutenant pulled out a small leather bag on a piece of leather twine. "Hey, Glenn found my stuff today," he said. "Found my worldly possessions."

"What's in the bag?"

"My mojo," the Cajun replied with a grin. "And my grandparent's wedding rings."

"What the hell is a mojo?"

"Good _gris-gris_, _Texian_, good _gris-gris_," he handed it over to Daryl with a grin. "Here, you take it."

Daryl eyed the bag. "Well, take the rings out, dumb ass."

"Naw, you take those too," the Lieutenant clapped him on the back. "They brought happiness and love to my grandparents, they'll do you and Carol good, yeah? But, ah, you have to add something personal to you in the bag or it won't work."

Not really a heavy believer in whatever the hell the Cajun was trying to sell him, Daryl narrowed his eyes at the bag.

"Like what?"

"Something that means a lot to you, could be symbolic, a lock of Carol's hair, maybe?" The Lieutenant winked. "Or…a piece of that pretty headscarf she likes to wear, something you love."

Unable to throw his gift back in his face (and maybe deep down a little touched that the Cajun gave him something as precious to him as his grandparents wedding rings), Daryl asked, "are you sure?"

"Yeah, I told you, I want you to be happy. Now, of course, I'm not expecting you to marry Carol right away, you're not that kind of man…but the rings are there should you ever need them."

"Thank you."

"Semper fi, brother," the Lieutenant returned with a grin.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Mojo** – Often used in reference to a mojo bag, a voodoo charm worn about the neck that often holds within it spices, coins, amulets, animal parts or various items that can hold a special meaning to the wearer. A mojo bag is considered a living entity and often gets fed alcohol or water to keep it 'alive'. Mojo bags are often not shared unless a very special, thick bond is formed between people, wherein it's believed that part of the spirit of the original holder can be transferred and added to the magic of the bag, to help protect the new owner with an even stronger force.

**The Marine Dialect**

**Semper Fi** (Semper Fidelis) - Always faithful.


	51. Picocher

**Brazen Hussy - You are biased (which is perfectly fine), but I think he'd smack a lady just like he'd smack a man for speaking crap about him. Merle doesn't seem like he'd take shit and abuse from anyone, boobs or no.**

**crazstiz - Why thank you for the review! And the enthusiasm! ^_^**

**skittletitz - You're quite possibly the coolest person I know online. And for that I thank you for being so good to me, because I'm a hopeless loner in this fandom. *slicks hair back with comb and wears leather jacket in effort to be just as cool as you* ... *fails miserably***

**MollyMayhem84 - I know! I think sometimes the Lt. pushes his boundaries with Daryl...the man has to know that he's quite close to an ass kicking at times when he gets too affectionate...**

**Lilone1776 - Yes, I agree, the Lt. needs his mojo now more than ever. I think it speaks volumes as to how much he cares more for others than he does himself.**

**Laura - Thank you! ^_^**

**A True Dreamer - I'm glad you're caught up as well!**

**ldyjaydin - Hmm...I like your thinking...*ponders***

**GG - I think anyone would get excited trapped in a ZA with a crapload of ordinance. I know I would.**

**AFishNamedSushi - Taking Daryl out of his comfort zone is something everyone should try...it's very entertaining. ^_^**

**HGRHfan35 - Perhaps...I can't see it being anytime soon...but maybe one day Daryl might want to make an honest woman of Carol...^_^ **

**Axelrocks - Bromance is perhaps my favourite term in the world for anything ever. True story. ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**Supfan - Thank you!**

**scarletglory - Thank you for your kind review! I'm not one of these fanfic writer's who demand reviews, but the fact that you gave me at least one letting me know this story isn't crap, is kind enough. I very much appreciate the support. Thanks for giving such an honest and beautiful review. May good things come your way in life! ^_^**

**SilverWolf84 - Thank you! I enjoy making the Dixon boys uncomfortable.**

**Surplus Imagination - Kids and foreshadowing? Ack! Good heavens no! Not at all...the Lt. is mostly curious because of his sudden realization that he's kind of Annie's caregiver now.**

**avani2 - Aw! Thanks for the super kind review! I'm glad the first fanfiction for TWD you read wasn't bad for you. I'm honored that mine was your first (though admittedly there are much better fanfic's out there than this one, but that's my humble opinion). ^_^**

**Ms Q - Oh gosh, wouldn't I love to sit at the writer's table on TWD? Things would change and stuff would be awesome! I'm humbled you think I should work for them...your review was honestly a very sweet and wonderful thing to read. I appreciate the support and the kind words. I know OC's are hard to swallow, I feel the same way, sorry if they initially put you off, but I'm glad you enjoyed yourself while reading this silly fanfic of mine. May you have a great life, my friend! ^_^  
**

**Guys, sorry for the slow chapter this go around, I'm planting the seeds of plot...so...enjoy the slow pace while it lasts.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-One: Picocher**

****Carol****

The sun was shooting streams of reddish-golden light through the thick woods of the forest beyond the wall, touching the church with flickers of flame and fire, as the early morning air cooled and the hot air of the muggy Georgian night condensed in thick patches of fog in the low lying areas of the convent lawns.

Sitting by the campfire, Carol calmly brushed her hand through Annie's hair, straightened the gnarls of licorice black locks so that she could braid it for the day.

Across the fire from her Grace and Sister Mary Elizabeth were setting a heavy cast iron kettle over the grill of the fire to heat water for the bath.

When Carol first arrived she thought the nuns keeping their guests regularly bathed and as clean as possible was an odd ritual, since they weren't guaranteed the well water would be endless, but she soon realized it was just their ways.

It may have had something to do with the whole 'cleanliness is next to godliness' theory or maybe they just liked to keep things as normal as possible.

Either way it wasn't her place to argue, they kept the entire group well fed and relatively happy within the convent walls and she wasn't about to make trouble over something so silly.

In her little corrugated plastic box/crib at Carol's side, Judith slept, drool bubbling out of her mouth as she moved it in her dream state, the little tent-like umbrella that had been set up to shield her from the sun fluttered on the breeze gently.

Expertly braiding Annie's hair, Carol touched a hand to the girl's head as she finished up giving her a broad grin as she jumped up.

"Thank you, Carol! Can I go play on the swing?"

"You're very welcome, sweetie," she returned. "And yes, but stay in sight, okay?"

The little girl nodded vigorously and calling to her dog, Annie hurried off to play on the swing attached to the walnut tree, chasing the dog there playfully.

Checking on Judith, Carol moved towards the fire and stoked it using the dried wood Sister Joan had gathered for them from the forest outside the wall.

They'd need to start thinking about gathering wood to dry for the winter months, who knew how long they'd need to stay at the convent and stockpiling on wood wasn't a bad idea, after all if they chopped the trees down the wood would need a few months to dry properly before it'd be any good to anyone.

Unless they could find a nearby farmer's stockpile of wood that they could take from.

She wasn't sure about it though.

Glancing over to where Annie was swinging idly with her dog and doll at her feet, Carol smiled. The sweet little thing was so docile at times like this, it was hard to believe she was the one who nearly tore the entire contents of the church apart with her bare hands just a few days ago.

Touching a hand to the wooden rose at her collar, Carol thought of Sophia. She could remember how her baby girl would play on the swings at the park near their home on the days when Ed would be at work and Carol would sneak out of the house with Sophia and they'd make a day of it, getting ice cream on their way home, stopping by the pond to feed the ducks.

Sophia was younger than Annie was then, but they still had the same energy, the same quiet, sweet manner about them.

"It's going to get hotter before the sun hits the midday mark," Father O'Rourke pointed out, easing down beside her with his rifle.

Carol's attention was brought back to the present and she offered the priest a kind smile. "I prefer my days to be warm, last night made it hard to get any sleep in with the heat."

"I sometimes miss air conditioning," Father O'Rourke said with an easy smile. "Not that I really should, but…small things."

"I think we all have small things we miss," she offered.

"The small things are sometimes the most under appreciated things in life, but you sure notice when they're gone, don't you?"

"Hm," she replied softly.

"Of course, there are those big things we miss too," he added.

"Like running water," she teased.

He laughed. "I was thinking more along the lines of family, friends, society as whole."

"To be honest," Carol began softly, "if it wasn't for the walkers and the threat of death from Woodbury, I wouldn't mind this new world. It's simpler, people actually notice each other, we genuinely care for one another."

"A sense of community is important to the development of the human race," the priest agreed. "We are born social animals, but through our experiences learn to shy away from showing our true emotions to others for fear of rejection. This sense of family we've settled upon in our darkest hour is true testament to the original plan I think God had intended for us. Of course, I can't say what drives Woodbury's head of state to the lengths I've heard he goes to, but…we all have our weaknesses."

Smiling at the man, Carol glanced beyond him, checking on Annie as the girl continued to swing with her dog and doll.

"I'm sorry if this conversation is making you uncomfortable," the priest said.

"Not at all," she returned.

"I just feel like we should be taking our minds off Woodbury and here I am bringing it up in casual conversation," he paused, "and I'm still going on about it. Sorry."

Carol beamed at him. "It's okay."

Grace came back with Sister Mary Claire, both holding onto the heavy, water filled kettle.

They carefully set it on the grill and stepped back, easing onto the log at Carol's side.

"I swear the air is going to be absolutely heavy with heat this afternoon," Grace said. "I do wish the others would get back soon," she added.

"They probably just had a hard time clearing the base," Carol said, not even daring to think of the other option for their tardiness.

"You're probably right, Carol," the woman agreed.

"How come you never go out with them, Carol?" Sister Mary Claire asked politely. "You seem capable of handling yourself."

"Someone needs to keep the home fires burning," Carol replied softly. She had never been bothered by performing what Andrea sneering referred to as the 'the feminine arts'. They all had their roles to play and being wife to the group was what it seemed she was good at. Someone had to cook and clean for the others and if it fell on her, she wasn't going to complain. Rick always thanked her for everything she did for him and the others never seemed to complain about her cooking skills, so she never felt affronted personally by her duty. It didn't hurt that Daryl gave her that soft, almost ungrateful look whenever she brought him a plate of food or a mended pair of pants (not that he let her at his clothes too much). Which reminded her that she needed to get him out of his pants for a more practical reason (other than the obvious), because the ones he was wearing were absolutely due for a good cleaning and mending…or maybe she'd just toss them and find another pair for him. Cut her losses, so to speak.

"I don't find shame at all in serving others," Grace agreed with Carol. "As long as they show gratitude…of course I wouldn't take any complaints about the way I did it."

Father O'Rourke beamed. "Is that a gentle hint, Grace?"

The woman chuckled. "Could be. Maybe you best watch yourself, Father."

Shouldering his rifle, the man nodded. "I can take the hint," he smiled warmly at them. "And I better get inside, I'm due for a nap." Placing his hand on Carol's shoulder, the priest looked down at her. "You do a fine job keeping our home fires burning, all of you."

"And what is it you think you do around here, Father?" Sister Mary Claire inquired almost innocently.

The man laughed. "Well, I make standing on a wall look good, though I doubt I could hit the broad side of a barn with this thing."

The three women laughed as he wandered off, heading for his rectory.

Turning her attention back on the others, Carol caught Grace touching her hand to her collarbone, her face far away for a moment as she watched the kettle on the grill.

"The others will probably be back by tomorrow, the day after at the latest," Carol offered.

The woman gave her a small smile. "Of course, I realize it may them some time to recover what they can."

Carol wasn't fooled, she knew the look the woman had. It was mild panic and horror and a touch of regret.

"I'd imagine if anything, they just found more than they could load up," she went on softly, reaching over and touching the woman's upper arm warmly. "I bet they'll bring back all sorts of goodies for us."

Grace beamed almost shyly. "Yes, we can only hope they don't expect us to wear military gear…I'm much too short to think fatigues would suit me."

Laughing with the woman, Carol angled herself to hold a better conversation with her. "I don't know. I've heard combat boots are quite comfortable to march in."

"Think they have combat boots in a size six and a half woman's?" Grace asked, sticking out her dainty little foot.

"If you wear thick socks, I think it might work," Carol replied.

"The pants make your hindquarters look good," Sister Mary Claire added. "At least you'll have that."

"How do you know the pants look good on your behind, Sister?" Grace asked playfully.

The nun flushed bright red. "I've heard things…"

"This isn't observational?" Grace inquired innocently, a devilish look in her eyes. "You didn't happen to notice the Lieutenant's rear end in his army fatigues?"

Carol couldn't help laughing as Sister Mary Claire's eyes widened.

"I would never—"

"It's alright, honey," Grace went on calmly. "Why don't you go and relieve Herschel off the front gate, Carol and I can take care of the kettle."

The poor nun hurried off, her cheeks pink.

"That was a terrible thing to do to the poor girl," Grace admitted after the two chuckled together.

"She'll recover, Mary Claire seems the resilient type."

"Hm, she's always been sensible as a young nun, the fact is I rely on her heavily now more than ever."

The women fell silent, watching the kettle, keeping an eye on Annie as she remained on the swing.

"That girl loves that swing, doesn't she?" Grace inquired.

"I think your Lieutenant came to the conclusion long before any of us that it would keep her occupied."

Smiling, Grace bowed her head a little to the hands she clasped in her lap. "Next he'll be building a tree house in my walnut tree and she'll come tumbling out on her crown."

"You don't really mind, do you?" Carol asked. "The things he does around here?"

Giving her a small, furtive glance, Grace shrugged. "I like to nag him about minor things," she admitted finally. "It seems appropriate given how much he thinks he can get away with around here."

"I honestly don't think he minds much at all," Carol said.

Grace laughed. "I _know_ he doesn't mind, that ridiculous Cajun boy is all kinds of hell on a woman." Gasping, the woman realized the word she had let slip and touched her hand to her mouth. "Oh, did I say that word out loud?"

"I didn't hear anything," Carol said.

Falling silent, they both sighed at the world around them as it slowly heated up in the light of the sun.

"Have you ever given any thought to a life in this world without Daryl?" Grace asked.

Falling into a deep study of a hole in her pants at the knee, Carol realized that she not only needed to mend her own pants, but also that she thought about a world without Daryl more than she ever realized. "Some mornings," she began cautiously, "when I wake up and he's nowhere in sight – maybe he's out hunting or gone on a supply run – I sometimes think that maybe I'll never see him again. That something could happen and he'd just be…gone. Rick would come back, and I know that look he gets, I've seen it before, when there's someone missing from a run. When everyone gets excited when the group returns, I get a little sick to my stomach until I see him and know he made it back."

Grace was silent at her side, watching her dark hair falling into her serious, soft blue-green eyes. "I know how you feel, Carol," she said, taking Carol's hand between hers. "I understand exactly what you mean."

Gripping Grace's hands, Carol turned to her. "You love him, don't you?"

"I need him," she admitted quietly, low enough to keep the conversation between the two of them. "It's not a matter of lust or want, it's a need, like a fish needs the water."

"You should let him know," Carol said. "Life these days is short and nothing is ever certain."

"I may at some point give him a clue," Grace replied with a small, shy grin.

Carol smiled at the woman.

"But telling him outright will just give him one more reason to strut around here like the peacock he is."

"We can't have that," Carol agreed.

"No, his bloated ego might be the death of us all if we can't fit within the walls with it," Grace replied.

The two women laughed again at the idea of the Lieutenant strutting around pleased with himself.

As the laughter died and they regain their breath, Grace sighed. "I do feel bad about teasing Sister Mary Claire like that, though…"

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Picocher** – To tease.


	52. Mordre

**skittletitz - In the world of one track minds...**

**HGRHfan35 - I think Carol needs a gal pal. She seems so lonely lately.**

**peonie01 - Thanks for the review. I know it was just a 'filler chapter' as some people may call it, but I like to build up to thinks with the laying of a delicate foundation.**

**AFishNamedSushi - What is it about army fatigues...like did they design them to make the ass look good? Except on women, the fatigues make women look hippy...**

**Ms Q - Andrea...ah Andrea...no I actually wish I could have her out and about running around...being walker fodder...I mean...O_o did I say that out loud? Eeps...**

**Axelrocks - Who wouldn't be charmed by the Lt.? He's a lady killer. ^_^**

**MollyMayhem84 - I literally gasped. Not to run your relationship, but I'd be looking for someone new...(obviously kidding!). Anyways, I like Lace for a ship name...I think you got that one right.**

**Anyways, here's an intense little chapter. I tried a different way of writing it for fun...so..I hope it's okay.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Two: Mordre**

****Daryl****

"Jesus Christ, there's so fucking many!" Someone shouted.

With his boot gripped in the mouth of a hungry walker, Daryl struggled to scramble back, kicking at the walker's face with his free foot. His crossbow was just out of reach.

Lying in a pool of blood, Daryl struggled to get enough leverage on the concrete floor to get away from the walker attacking him.

"Glenn?!" He called out "Glenn!"

Another pair of hungry hands clamped down on his shoulders and he didn't have much time to react as an ugly, gnashing pair of teeth dropped down, heading for his face.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**Half an hour earlier.**

****Daryl****

"Are these bolts welded in?" Glenn complained from where he lay on the asphalt under the helicopter. "Because I can't get them loosened."

Keeping an eye out for him, Daryl squinted at the middle distance where a handful of walkers had gathered against the fence where the base was edged in thick woods.

"Put some muscle into it, damn," he replied. "There's some walkers out there and I don't want them to attract anymore with all their bitch assed snarling."

"Well, give me a hand," Glenn snapped back.

Sighing heavily, Daryl shifted on his feet, glancing over to where Rick and Tyreese were getting a missile detached from the Apache with ease. "Get up here then," he growled. "Keep watch."

Sliding out from under the helicopter, Glenn handed off the ratchet with a dark glare.

"Be my guest," he huffed.

Removing his crossbow to get on his back, Daryl squirmed his way under the Apache to get at the missile.

"You see the walkers at the fence?" Maggie asked, joining them with Michonne from the Apache to their left.

"They ain't a threat," Daryl growled, working the bolt. "Just keep an eye on them in case the herd gets any bigger." Carefully dropping the bolt out of the housing for the missile, Daryl moved on to the bolt holding it in place at the head and began working on it. "Where the hell is that dumb assed Cajun and Merle, anyways?" Daryl snapped.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**Ten minutes earlier.**

****The Lieutenant****

They had been walking the base, heading for the trucks parked near the gate, when the Cajun spied three uggies making their way out of the tall grass of the training area.

"Hey, Merle, see them?" He motioned to the uggies with a jerk of his chin.

"Could have missed them when we were clearing house," Merle said with a shrug. "Wouldn't worry."

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the uggies who were ambling their way towards them at the smell of a fresh meal. "Let's take care of them and walk the fence a ways in that direction, see what's up."

The older Dixon glowered at him. "Ain't worth the trouble, if there was a hole in the fence we'd have known about it by now."

"Should have walked the fence yesterday," the Lieutenant muttered as they headed towards the uggies. "Could be a hole big enough, yeah? I mean, they look like civvies, don't they?"

"From this distance, could be," Merle replied.

Pulling out the combat knife he had taken off a dead Marine, the Lieutenant shouldered his rifle as they approached the hungry uggies.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**Fifteen minutes later.**

****Daryl****

The stillness of the afternoon was broken by the sudden far off blaring of a car horn and Daryl sat up in defense so quickly, he slammed his head against the undercarriage of the Apache.

As he quickly slid out from under the helicopter, he could hear the far off pop of a gunshot and snatched up his crossbow.

"What the hell is that?" Glenn demanded.

"Where's Merle?" Rick asked, jogging over to them, his pistol out.

"Never mind the old redneck boy," Michonne purred, motioning towards the walkers at the fence who were heading in the direction of the horn. "Where're they heading?"

"Michonne you get the others into HQ and secure the building, Daryl you're with me," Rick commanded.

Nodding, Daryl took off after Rick as he headed in the direction of the horn, just as it ended abruptly.

Moving around the Apache, they found the walkers at the fence moving at a quicker pace now, shuffling as fast as they could in the direction of the fence just beyond the training area behind the hangar.

Glancing back over his shoulder quickly to ensure the others were all heading for HQ, Daryl hurried after Rick, heading towards the hangar.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**Thirteen minutes earlier.**

****The Lieutenant****

Tucked behind the hangar, behind the tall grass of the training field, they found an area of the fence line where some shrubbery had overgrown the links, blending the ass end of an army jeep into the greenery almost flawlessly. The front end of the jeep had plowed through the fence, just enough that it stuck out on the other side, but not enough to leave a gaping hole. The whole scene was hidden by a little downwards dipping hill and the tall grass that had grown up during the spring.

There was still an uggie caught between the fence and the jeep though, as it struggled to get inside the fence. It got riled up at the sight and smell of them approaching, worming and gnashing its ugly teeth at them, wriggling a rotten tongue out between its retreating lips like an animal.

Ignoring the uggie for a moment, the Lieutenant edged in closer to the jeep, peering into the driver's side.

Inside the corpse was still, head back against the headrest behind it, mouth open.

Raising his rifle, the Lieutenant moved in closer, he could never tell if a corpse was a corpse or an uggie and he didn't want to risk having his face torn off.

Cautiously, he poked the corpse with the business end of his rifle, nudging it.

The thing jerked, then shifted, hand flailing out in front of it hitting the horn.

Leaping back, the Cajun fired a round into the uggie's skull, exploding it at the distance he was, spraying blackened blood and rotting brain everywhere.

The corpse slumped forward onto the steering wheel, keeping the horn blaring annoyingly.

Merle moved forward and struggled to pull the uggie off the wheel, as the Lieutenant moved around to the passenger side of the jeep and using his knife, crammed the blade into the uggie's skull that was struggling there to get out of the jeep, trapped by the seatbelt it wore.

Breaking loose from the fence where it was wedged, the uggie shot straight out for Merle.

The Dixon brother shoved his bladed stump up, catching the uggie under the chin and dropping it brutally onto the ground.

The two men backed away from the fence as a group of uggies on the other side began gathering, shoving and pushing to get in between the fence and the jeep, a couple managed to get in and the Cajun fired on them, dropping one, while Merle used his pistol and dropped another.

Backing away, taking a quick mental head count, the Lieutenant counted about twenty-five uggies and more pouring out of the surrounding area, being called to dinner by the horn they had set off.

As a few uggie corpses got hung up in between the fence and jeep, he had little hope that it would prevent more from spilling in, but as more of them joined the herd and began shoving and pushing, the weakened structure began to sag.

Eyeing the quickly growing numbers of uggies, the Lieutenant winced.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**Sixteen minutes later.**

****Daryl****

As they approached the corner rounding the hangar, heading for the training field an army green blur and Merle breezed by, heading in the direction of the headquarters' building.

Quickly peeking around the corner, Daryl spied a mass of walkers cresting the top of a hill that lead down towards the fence and pulled back. He really didn't know what he was expecting. In all honesty if running was the plan the Lieutenant and Merle had decided on, he should have just blindly followed.

"Run," he suggested to Rick, heading in the direction that the Lieutenant and Merle were heading.

Taking off after the two, Daryl and Rick scooted into HQ, just inches ahead of the herd.

Spinning around, Daryl slammed his body against the door before it could be edged open by the walkers outside, using every ounce of strength to keep them out.

"What the fucking fuck?" Glenn demanded. "What the hell is going on?"

Pushing against the door at Daryl's side the Lieutenant frowned. "We didn't check the fence line," he pointed out.

"We did." Rick argued.

"We glanced at it, should have walked it," the Cajun replied. "That's my bad, I'll take responsibility for that one."

"What do we do?" Maggie demanded.

"How many are out there?" Tyreese asked.

"Is a fuckton a technical term? Do you _Texian's_ use it often?" The Lieutenant inquired.

"Not really the appropriate time to make jokes, Cajun boy," Michonne snarled.

Pressing back against the door, the Lieutenant sighed. "You're going to feel real bad if I die and you didn't laugh at my last joke, _beb_."

"No one's dying!" Rick snarled. "Glenn, Maggie get the back door, throw whatever you can in front of it to prevent walkers from getting in that way, we'll just have to make our way to the roof and clear some out from up there."

Standing by the door as it was forced open by the walkers and snapped shut by the men pushing against it, Merle shoved his blade into the crack created now and then, taking out a few walkers calmly.

With his boots sliding on the floor as more walkers pressed against the door, Daryl struggled to find purchase, moving as fast as he could to keep upright against the door.

Beside him the Cajun was using the wall with his boot resting against a nearby fire alarm to give him some leverage.

As more walkers managed to wedge their arms and legs into the crack in the door, Daryl found himself in the middle of a losing battle.

Snapping the alarm off the wall, the Cajun slipped onto his ass into the walker blood that had drained out of the dead Merle had been taking out, the door opening further with only Daryl at it.

"Back off the door," Rick ordered, "head for the tunnel entrance!"

Scrambling to his feet, the Lieutenant barely avoided a snapping jaw, as Daryl held the door long enough for his brother and the Cajun to get out of the way, before he released it.

"Glenn, Maggie! Head for the tunnels!" Rick shouted deeper into the building, hoping he was heard.

Racing down the hall, the door behind them now wide opening and allowing walkers to just pour in, Daryl slid over the concrete, skidding across the floor gracelessly, recovering himself against the wall.

Covering him, the Lieutenant popped off a few shots, taking out the walkers who were getting uncomfortably close on their heels, helping Daryl get his footing without a word as Merle and Michonne sliced at the walkers who the Cajun didn't manage to shoot.

Arriving at the entrance to the tunnels, they found Glenn and Maggie already there, opening the hatch.

Turning, Daryl raised his crossbow and fired the only shot he had time to get off, before pulling the Cajun's combat knife from his belt to give the others time to get down into the tunnels before the walkers over took them.

At his side Merle, Michonne, Rick and the Lieutenant took aim with their weapons and fired as Tyreese helped Maggie into the tunnels. The narrow halls made the walkers come at them in nearly single file, which worked to their benefit, but there was still a holy hell of a lot coming at them.

"Get into the tunnels!" Rick shouted.

Glancing over to see who was getting into safety, he found Rick shoving Michonne and Merle in the direction of the tunnel hatch.

Daryl dropped his crossbow down to load another bolt to give them coverage as a new wave of walkers rounded the corner from the hall into the room, he didn't see the corpse that lunged at him, knocking the crossbow out of his hands. Slipping on walker blood, Daryl fell backwards, the walker on him gripping onto his foot.

Noticing Glenn to his right get knocked forward onto his face by a walker, Daryl struggled to free himself from the walker gnawing at his boot, kicking it in the face.

"Jesus Christ, there's so fucking many!" Tyreese growled.

Kicking at the walker, Daryl struggled to see what became of Glenn as more walkers poured down on them.

Gunshots coming from the tunnel hatch and the walkers on Daryl dropped enough for him to scramble to his feet.

Maggie, Merle and Michonne joined them again from the tunnels, standing at their sides as they cleared walkers enough for Rick and the others to regain their bearings.

"Get into the tunnels!" Rick ordered, growing impatient.

As people struggled to hop down into the tunnel system, not at all worried about breaking ankles, so much as surviving a walker bite, Daryl waited, counting heads as he provided cover with a pistol he pulled from the waistband of his pants. As their group disappeared down the hatch, Daryl scooted down, snatching up his fallen crossbow on his way into the hatch, pulling the lid closed behind him.

He landed at the bottom, breathing heavy, shaking from adrenaline.

"Everyone okay?" Rick demanded.

There was a general positive consensus, except for one voice in the darkness of the tunnels that softly whispered.

"They got me. I think I've been bit."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Mordre** – To bite.


	53. De Nos Jours

**I chose to edit and post this instead of napping.**

**I hope you kids are happy.**

**Sorry for the cliffie (but not really).**

**CHECK OUT THE NEW COVER ART, KIDDOS! SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO THE ARTIST, SKITTLETITZ. Go to my profile page for the link to her art blog, because her art is beautiful.**

**Hey, skittletitz, you are loved, babes.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Three: De Nos Jours**

****Daryl****

Beneath the wheels of the truck, the highway hummed, each bump breaking the silence inside the cab. Gripping the steering wheel tight, Daryl glared at the road that stretched out before them.

If they were racing the sun, he would have stopped the truck miles back and beat the shit out of a tree or a walker or hell even someone, he just felt that angry at the world.

Swerving he smacked the truck into a walker at high speed, not once slowing or hesitating as it crunched against the grill, tearing in half at the waist, both halves flew over the windshield, smashing on the road behind them with a splat.

Fuck it.

Fuck everything.

It didn't alleviate the rage inside him, but it didn't hurt either.

In the seat beside him Rick glowered darkly at the countryside as they drove, not flinching as they hit the walker, not saying much.

Daryl couldn't imagine how this would hit him. The man was already at his most vulnerable, all he needed was one push into Crazytown.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**Four hours earlier.**

****Rick****

"Get a light!" Glenn shouted. "Someone get me a fucking light!"

In the dark there was shuffling as people struggled to locate some kind of light on their persons, overhead the walkers were thudding and moaning at the hatch.

Patting his pockets for his lighter, Rick held it up, flicking it to life as others did the same, the Lieutenant pulled a small flashlight from within his many pockets to shine at Maggie who was pulling up her shirt to reveal a gash on her side.

"Is that a bite?" Tyreese demanded.

"Shut up," Glenn snapped, kneeling to study the wound up close as Maggie held her shift up with shaking hands, trying to see for herself.

It was hard to tell, the wound could have been a gouge or it could have been a bite, but whatever it was it didn't look friendly.

Rick felt that heavy feeling descend on his shoulders and he sighed, dropping his chin. He couldn't recall Maggie going down, but things were pretty crazy up there.

Standing up, Glenn cast Rick a pleading look, before turning to Maggie who looked pale.

Touching his hands to the side of her face, Glenn pressed a kiss to her temple. "You're okay," he assured her. "Everything will be okay." Pulling her to him, Glenn held Maggie tight. "You'll be okay."

She was already crying quietly, tears welling in her eyes.

"What do we do, Rick?" Glenn asked him.

Rick floundered for an answer, looking everywhere but at Glenn and Maggie. He couldn't lose another one, not Maggie, not anyone.

"Rick?" Glenn demanded.

He didn't know what to say, God he couldn't even move.

"Let's get into a secure area, find some lights or something," Daryl stepped in calmly, touching a rough hand to Rick's shoulder. "We'll figure things out from there."

"She needs to be put down," Michonne pointed out. "'If she turns in the dark here—"

"We don't even know if it's a bite yet!" Glenn snapped at her.

"She's a liability just waiting to pounce in the dark!" Michonne shot back. "I'm sorry, I know she's yours and you have feelings for her, but she'll turn and take every last one of us with her!"

"You touch her and I'll knock you dead," Glenn snarled, putting Maggie behind him protectively.

"Let's find us a secure area, then you can bash everyone's head in if it makes you feel better, Glenda," Merle snarled.

"Fuck you, Merle!"

"Fuck you back, Hop Sing!"

As Merle and Glenn collided, Daryl and Tyreese moved forward to stop the fight, Rick continued to just stand nearby quietly. He felt frozen, like his mind wouldn't even work properly. All he could do was just watch things unfold, an odd feeling of euphoria washing over him. He felt safer, happier just doing nothing.

The Lieutenant moved out of the darkness, heading towards Maggie, the back of his hand brushing over her forehead.

"Come on, _honeychild_," he whispered softly. "We'll get you somewhere safer, yeah?"

She nodded.

"Come on," he urged, taking her by the elbow like a gentleman. "The armory is down this way."

Rick felt like he should follow them, but his legs wouldn't work. He knew he wasn't being sane, wasn't rational, but his mind just blocked those feelings from registering with the one part of his brain that functioned as a survivor.

He was so warm and comfortable at the moment that he felt a nap beneath the bleating walkers would be a wonderfully blissful idea.

Barely registering Michonne's face as it entered his vision, he blinked when she spoke to him.

"Rick?" She shook him a little.

Inhaling deeply, he snapped out of his little moment of euphoria. "We'll treat it as a wound, keep an eye on her, see what happens," he commanded, pushing forward, following after the Lieutenant and Maggie as they headed for the armory.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**One hour later.**

****Daryl****

Whether it was unknowingly done as a form of punishment or not, Daryl couldn't just sit across from Glenn and Maggie until the woman turned. It had to be a form of torture on him to witness that.

Hell, he didn't like to just sit around on the laziest of days, never mind watching as Glenn and Maggie said things that they felt needed to be said before she expired.

_If_ she expired.

Fidgeting with his hands, he perched on the edge of a table that sported military helmets and a variety of gloves, watching as the others tried hard not to be in the room they were holed up in.

There was only so much he could take.

It didn't help that when he looked at Glenn and Maggie all he could imagine was how he would be if that was Carol. It was hard enough when she disappeared into the prison and they didn't find a single part of her except for her scarf, he wouldn't be able to handle watching her die, seeing her turn.

It made him physically sick to think of it.

Hopping off the table with a heavy sigh, he picked up his crossbow and headed for the door.

"Where you off to, _cabri_?" The Lieutenant asked from his spot on the floor in the corner, hunched over, his forearms on his knees.

"Can't wait in here forever, gonna head up see if I can clear out some of the walkers, we can load up and be out of here by nightfall," he grunted.

Pushing to his feet, the Cajun nodded. "Makes sense, I'll head up with you."

Merle and Tyreese joined them as well, leaving Rick and Michonne to watch over Glenn and Maggie on the floor.

Daryl paused by Michonne before heading out the door.

He eyed her for a moment, hesitant, before speaking, "if she turns and Glenn can't do it—"

"I've got it under control," she replied calmly.

He nodded his appreciation and took to the door.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**Two minutes earlier.**

****The Lieutenant****

Those condescending jerks at the counselling services counter in the local health centre had told him there were five stages of grief.

Of course he couldn't recall all of them. How could they expect him to? He had just come from the funeral home where he had to identify Eloise and the funeral director had recommended him to the centre.

But he could recall the most important stage; acceptance.

That little bastard was his favourite stage.

Glenn, it seemed, was in the anger stage and everyone was in his sights.

The Lieutenant could only imagine he was pissed off at the world, and he couldn't blame him. His own anger stage was directed inwards, still was some days.

It was Maggie who had his heart breaking in pieces. The poor young woman was trying so hard to look so strong and stalwart in the face of uncertain death, but he could see the fear, the absolute unabashed fear that flashed behind her eyes now and then.

Squatting he draped his arms over his head and hunched in on himself, trying hard to get over the fact that this was all his fault. If he had pushed for them to walk the fence, they wouldn't have missed that tiny little hole and those uggies in the jeep. He knew it was his mess and he'd have to clean it.

So when Daryl said he was heading up to clear out the uggies, he volunteered to go with him, he needed to make it right somehow. He had to at least patch the wound.

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**One hour later.**

****Maggie****

"I'm fine, Glenn, stop feeling my forehead," she growled, gripping his hand as it made another trip to her forehead.

He winced apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Maggie," he huffed.

She smiled a little. "Settle down, walker bait."

"I told you not to call me that," he insisted.

"Yeah, but I like it," she teased.

Taking her hand in his, Glenn moved in close to her, pressing a kiss to her jaw, just by her chin.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence. Maggie wasn't sure if she was feverish, but she was feeling like a nap would do her some good and being underground she wasn't sure if she was unnaturally cold or if everyone was feeling it.

"How does your wound feel?" He asked. "Is it irritating you or…?"

"Glenn, it's a wound, it's stinging and it's bleeding and hurts," she replied. She linked her hand with his, grinning at him. "You remember that time in the gas station? When the others were loading the truck and you found that ugly little stuffed gorilla?"

Glenn smiled a little. "Yeah, I didn't know you were scared of gorillas. I never fully understood that fear…"

"I never fully understood it myself," she said, sliding in to lay her head on his shoulder. "I love my daddy and Beth," she added softly. "You make sure they know that. You tell Beth to watch out for men, they're heart breakers, but most of them are worth it."

"Maggie—"

"And tell Rick that he's doing a good job leading us, that I'm glad we followed him." She went on stubbornly.

"Maggie, please, don't do this, okay?" He protested, looking anywhere but at her.

She nuzzled against his neck. "Just in case," she whispered. "Tell Carol that I wish I got to spend more time with her. And tell Daryl that he needs to stop being such a big tough guy as just tell Carol how much she means to him. Women like to hear it out loud. Tell Carl that he's on the right track, but he shouldn't put up a wall around his heart."

"Maggie—"

"Glenn, I might die," she said. "You need to deal with this."

He looked sharply at her and stubbornly stuck his hand against her forehead. She could see the realization in his eyes, even though he denied it with his face.

"You're not dying," he argued weakly. "Don't be dramatic."

"Glenn," she stated. "You're the sweetest man I've ever had in my life who wasn't my daddy. You need to know that."

They looked up as Daryl and the others entered, covered in more walker blood.

"Road's clear," Daryl announced gruffly. "Let's get loaded up and get the fuck out of this hellhole."

"What about the missiles?" Michonne demanded.

"We unhooked two more," Tyreese said. "We have enough, just need to load them up."

"I'm not going anywhere," Maggie said. "I don't want to my daddy or anyone back at the convent to see me if I turn."

"Glenn?" Rick began.

"I'll sit with her until we're ready to go," he replied.

"Glenn," Rick began to protest.

"It'll be okay, Rick." Glenn insisted. "Don't worry."

**************..-~-..**

* * *

******************..-~-..**

**One hour later.**

****Daryl****

They were grabbing armloads of army ration containers in the kitchen's underground storage when the shot echoed off the walls of the tunnel, coming from the armory.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. They froze in their spot like a bunch of animals caught in the sights of a hunter in the forest.

Glancing over at Rick to see what his orders were, Daryl found the man looking like another breakdown was on the horizon, so he turned to the Lieutenant who looked calm and centred, like he expected nothing less.

Handing his armload of food off to Michonne, Daryl began the solemn trek down the tunnels towards the armory.

Stepping into the doorway he found Glenn holding Maggie, sobbing uncontrollably and he backed out quietly, waiting just out of sight until Glenn was done mourning.

The absolute pain in Glenn's sobs twisted Daryl's guts and he screwed his mouth, trying hard to keep his emotions in check. He had hoped that the wound was just a gouge, that Maggie would be just fine, that no one had to face the loss of another one of their numbers, but somehow he knew that hope had fucked them over a barrel again.

Suddenly the urge to just go back to the convent and hold Carol came over him and Daryl hung his head, punishing himself for letting the group down by forcing himself to listen to Glenn's sobs.

"_De nos jours_," the Lieutenant whispered, stepping out of the dark to slump against the wall beside Daryl, "_la vie est courte, ainsi faites de lui ce que vous pouvez, alors que vous pouve_z."

Daryl sighed.

"I'll take full responsibility for this," the Cajun said. "I was put in charge of this mission and it was me who lost her to the wolves."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**De nos jours **– In our time, today.

**De nos jours la vie est courte, ainsi faites de lui ce que vous pouvez, alors que vous pouvez.** – In our time life is short, so make of it what you can, while you can.


	54. Aller

**Yeah, I sure did do that thing you've all accused me of. And I'm not even sorry. Things happen. Plus their sappy romance was grating on my nerves.**

**No to be honest, it was a hard choice. I feel pretty bad, but thems the breaks and that's how the show rolls.**

**Brazen Hussy, if you've seen the latest episode head over to my profile page for a special message so I don't spoil people here.**

**Everyone else, just know that they can take our *SPOILER* but they'll never take our fanfiction!**

**IMPORTANT! READ FIRST! Also, if you've noticed my new cover art, congratulations you are not a robot. That cover art is courtesy of the very talented and beautiful skittletitz. Go to my profile page for the link to her art blog. Because it's worth the time to take a peek at her stuff.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Four: Aller**

****Carol****

She was sitting with Judith in the kitchens of the convent, cooing to the baby when the sound of trucks pulling up just outside alerted her to the return of the others.

From where she stood at the counter with Annie, teaching the girl how to properly wash dishes, Grace turned and met Carol's gaze.

The two women stared at each other for a moment, before Carol stood up, holding Judith against her chest.

Quietly, they moved from the kitchens, through the halls of the dorms, heading for the front door. Both women were apprehensive. For some reason all morning Carol felt like the day wasn't going to end well. She had that feeling like somehow something was off.

It may have been because the sun outside was so pleasant and bright, that the sky was bluer than it had been in a long time.

Arriving at the front door, Carol peeked around the edge of the frame, quietly spying the trucks and those emerging from within them, shifting Judith to her shoulder, supporting her with one hand as she balanced herself against the frame.

She smiled a little when Daryl hopped out of a military truck moodily and stepped out of the dorms onto the front stoop. Her smile died and she dropped her free hand when she spied Glenn and no sign of Maggie. The two were inseparable.

Beside her she felt Grace take hold of her hand gently, squeezing it.

Carol's eyes left Glenn, dancing over the heads of those returning looking for the Lieutenant's.

Finally the man emerged from the back of another military truck, he looked grim and wan. Not quite the pissed off Daryl looked, but there was an edge to the man that Carol had never seen. It was a dark, almost malicious look.

Carol wondered if that was his 'game' face for when he went into battle, because it was kind of terrifying.

She scanned the group again for Maggie, already having a sinking feeling she knew what had darkened everyone's moods.

No one looked happy.

Returning the grip on Grace's hand before releasing it, Carol stepped out into the daylight with Judith, moving straight towards Herschel and Beth as they gathered around Glenn.

By the time she was halfway to them, she saw the heartbreak in Herschel's eyes and the hope fade from Beth's.

She stopped in her tracks, watching the three of them with tears already fogging her eyes.

Beside her Grace took Judith quietly, giving Carol both hands as she felt that too familiar sinking sickness that came with the ominous news of another of their group lost to the walkers, her eyes on Herschel, knowing just how it felt to lose a child in this new world.

Throwing her hands to her mouth, Carol sobbed for the Greene family, for Glenn, oh God for Rick!

She searched the sea of faces, looking for Rick who stood apart from them quietly, looking so fragile.

Carol headed for him, moving quickly and quietly.

"Rick," she whispered as she approached him, hands reaching out for him, knowing he needed more comfort than Daryl at the moment. Knowing Daryl he'd be heading off to beat the hell out of a wall and she knew to keep her distance for the time being.

Rick stepped out of her reach, inhaling deeply. "We need to get these trucks unloaded."

"Rick…"

"I'll give everyone an hour…then we should get the trucks unloaded. We'll go to the prison tomorrow and bury Maggie," he went on. "We'll give her a burial with the others."

"Rick…" Carol reached out and touched his upper arm. "It's not your fault."

"We should clean her body, make her look real pretty," he went on. "Herschel and Glenn deserve to see her looking beautiful before we bury her."

"I'll care for her," Carol said softly. "Don't worry about it. Where is she?"

Rick motioned with a tilt of his head in the direction of the military truck where the Lieutenant had been riding in the back of.

"Okay, don't worry about it," Carol stated, running her hand over his back, feeling the tension that knotted the muscle there. "Go see Carl, he'll want to see his daddy."

"Carol," Grace interrupted moving to stand beside them. "Why don't you go and find Daryl, the sisters will take care of Maggie. Don't you worry about a thing we've tended to the bodies of our sisters before and we'll keep doing it for as long as it takes."

"I can take care of Maggie, Grace. It's okay."

"Honey," the woman insisted, "go be with your man. Let us shoulder the burden of caring for the sweet woman for you."

They all stopped talking as Glenn collapsed to the ground sobbing, Herschel struggling to hold the poor young man up.

"Go on, honey," Grace stated.

Carol noticed Rick didn't even glance at Judith and grimaced, this was a huge step back in his progress and she felt so helpless.

"Go on," Grace pushed her in the direction of the storage shed. "We've got things handled here."

"What about the Lieutenant?" Carol asked her.

The two women glanced over to where the Cajun was quietly unloading the contents of a truck with Tyreese and Michonne's help.

"He'll be okay," Grace said. "The man's stronger than anyone gives him credit."

"Are you sure?" Carol asked.

"Of course," Grace returned, turning to Rick, setting her free hand on his back between his shoulder blades. "Let's get you inside and in front of a hot cup of tea, sweetheart. My girl's will take care of Maggie for you all."

Rick absently moved in the direction Grace guided him, looking like he was about to shut down.

Carol watched them until they disappeared into the dorms, spying Annie in the shadows of the building crying on the ground with Boo the dog in her arms. The girl overlooked in the chaos of the moment.

Moving towards them, Carol knelt.

"What's wrong, baby?" She asked.

"Everyone's sad," she sobbed. "I don't know why."

Stroking her hair, Carol forced a smile. "Oh, sweetie, we lost someone today."

"Why?"

Carol hesitated. She had never been one to lie outright to children, she always believed they needed to have things explained to them as they came. But she wasn't sure whether now was the right moment for the conversation on death just yet. Still at Annie's damp eyed, pleading gaze she gave in and eased down onto the grass beside her. "Because the world we live in now isn't easy and sometimes people just go and they don't come back."

"Like my daddy and mama and Sister Gertrude and Sister Mary Monica?" Annie asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's just a part of life."

"No! It's not nice!" Annie shrieked. "I want the Lieutenant! I want him! Lieutenant!" The little girl began to scream at the top of her lungs and Carol wrapped her arms around the girl trying to calm her, but Annie kicked and screamed. "Lieutenant! I want him! I want daddy!"

The soldier wandered over, saving Carol from the fit Annie was throwing.

"Keep screaming like that, _boo_, and a fox'll come out of the sky to steal your voice," he cooed with a small grin.

Annie launched herself at him, attaching herself to his leg.

"Sorry," Carol whispered.

The man smiled at her, it was sad and seemed a little forced. "Aren't we all today?" Picking up the little girl from around his leg, he held her against him as though she weighed nothing. "You want to help unload the truck, little missy?"

Annie sobbed against his chest. "No."

"_Mais_, you keep making a fuss and I'm going to start to think you're nothing but a squid out of water," he teased.

"I'm not."

"Soft, little squidgy squid," the Cajun went on, tickling Annie's ribs with one hand, the other holding her up. "Getting my shoulder all wet with your little squid tears."

The girl squirmed and kicked in his arms. "No. I'm not a squid!"

The Cajun laughed, poking the girl in the ribs playfully. "Soft, little squidgy squid making frog faces because she's unhappy."

"No." Annie stated, her voice tiring, the fight dying out in the Lieutenant's arms.

"Tired little squid needs to be thrown back."

"Not tired." The girl continued to be cantankerous, despite the fact her tears had abated and she was calmer.

Giving them some time alone, Carol returned to her journey, heading for the shed.

Behind her she heard Annie ask the Lieutenant about why people went away and touched a hand to the wooden rose at her collar, quickening her pace towards the shed.

Inside the shed was a lot calmer than she was expecting. Daryl was sitting on their bed nibbling on his thumbnail.

He looked up as she entered with wounded blue eyes and Carol's heart tore for him.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"We lost Maggie," he said.

"I know. Are _you_ okay?"

"Peachy," he snapped.

"I don't think you are," she pointed out calmly.

He stood up from the bed. "Well, you're not exactly a fucking mind reader, how the hell do you know how I am?" He growled, snatching up his crossbow and his bag of things.

"You're upset," she argued. "I know you. You're taking it to heart."

Dropping his bag, he moved in close to her.

Carol recalled a time when she would have flinched, would have recoiled from him, from any man, but this time she stood her ground, even as he encroached in her personal space.

"I'm not upset, I'm fucking angry!" He snapped. "And you're not helping, coming around being a fucking nun about everything! Calm and shit!"

She eyed him warily. "And you're what? Brushing it off because you're afraid that if you show your feelings to anyone you'll be less of a man?"

Stepping back from her, he moved to the wall and kicked a hole in the thin boards of the shed, slamming his fists against it a few times for good measure, before rolling his head to work out the kinks.

"Are you done?" She asked eyeing the mincemeat he had made of his fists and the hole he made in their wall.

"Yeah," he huffed, grabbing his belongings again. "I'm done. I'm done with everything."

He stormed past her out the door.

Carol turned and followed him. "Where are you going?" She asked.

"Back to the garden shed," he replied, picking up his pace.

"Why?"

"Because fuck this, that's why!" He growled, turning on her. "People are dying and we're what? Trying to have a nice little fucking home here? Got dumb assed glass hanging from the ceiling and stupid fucking curtains on the window like it's a fucking dream house? It's a fucking joke and it's only going to end badly! We're better off alone."

"So you're just done with us, then?" She asked, tears forming her eyes. She refused to cry, but she couldn't help the one tear that escaped.

"You bet your ass I am," he replied, backing off his tone enough. Drawing his mouth back into a half wince, half sneer, Daryl shrugged. "And stop bawling, you're a grown assed woman."

Feeling like Ed had punched her in the stomach, Carol flinched. "Go to hell." She stated, turning away from him, marching back into the shed and slamming the door.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Aller** – To go away, to leave.


	55. Caisse

**Again due to the amount of reviews, I'll address the ones that need addressing, pure love to all though.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Sorry I almost made you cry. Now I feel horrible.**

**Lilone1776 - Did you check out her artwork? It's so purdy. I just love her to to bits. (yeah, we're talking about you skittletitz, you magnificent woman you).**

**Hilary Parker - Well thank you. I'm pleased that the OC's aren't horrid. I honestly didn't intend for them to get this big, but you know how people are always talking about those characters who seem to take on a life of their own...well, there you have it. They were never supposed to be this big, but they're pushy. Thanks for this review and the other one as well!**

**GG - I agree. Daryl on the show will take three steps back, that's for sure.**

**Brazen Hussy - We Merle lovers have to stick together, babes. I hope you enjoy him in this chapter, because he's awesome as always...so loveable and so wicked.**

**Thanks for the kind reviews, my friends! And to those of you who read but don't review, I'm just hoping you're at least enjoying yourselves. Because as much as I enjoy reviews, I ain't all about them. As long as you're entertained, kiddos.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Five: Caisse**

****Old Missy****

She wasn't sure what was going on with Rick, but the poor man was just about ready to drop off the face of reality.

Setting him up with a nice hot cup of tea, she eased onto a chair at his side and mothered him quietly, ensuring he was safe and happy, brushing his hair off his forehead. It was longish, and she briefly wondered if he'd be convinced to cut it at some point. After all, they weren't going to be known as the group with the scruffy men.

"I'm fine," he whispered, eyes on the table top before them, hands wrapped around the mug of tea.

"Honey," she purred, "you're in shock. You just need to drink your tea and calm down a little. The day has been hard, I know."

"I'm fine," he insisted again. "I just need to get Maggie buried."

Taking his hand in both of hers, Grace caressed it. He had long fingers that reminded her of the Lieutenant's, they were calloused and strong. "We'll take care of the poor girl, you don't worry about a thing right now."

"She's ours, we'll take care of her," Rick went on.

"She's ours too, we'll carry the burden of cleaning and preparing her, sweetheart, you just drink your tea and calm yourself," the woman stated firmly, her heart breaking for the man. He seemed so strong the day they left and now he was a shell of himself once more. Like the ghost he was when he came to them.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly, Grace pressed a kiss to his temple, wanting to physically take his burdens from his shoulders. "You poor man," she whispered. "You poor warrior."

Rick seemed to just collapse in her arms and she held him tight, stroking his hair like a mother would her sons.

"Everything will be alright," she said. "You're safe with us now, sweetie."

"Mother Superior?" Sister Mary Elizabeth cooed from the doorway. She bowed her head quickly. "I mean, Grace?"

"Yes, honey?"

"The Lieutenant is looking for you, he said Annie needs you," the young nun said.

Grace unwrapped her arms from Rick. "Will you stay here with Rick?"

The young nun nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you." Taking one last look at the poor man, Grace sighed and headed for the door. These were the times that tried a woman, she knew that, but she only wished the good men weren't put to the trials as well.

******************..-~-..**

* * *

**********************..-~-..**

"See? She's not gone," the Cajun pointed out as Grace finally found them, standing in the shade of a truck.

In his arms Annie eyed Grace warily.

"Are you happy now?" He asked the girl.

"No." She replied petulantly.

Touching a hand to Annie's little knee, Grace leaned up against the Cajun to smile at the little girl. "Are you going to come and help me finish the dishes, honey?"

"Okay." Sliding down the Cajun, the wee boo gripped Grace's hand and called Boo the dog to her. The floppy eared creature scrambled out from under the truck, leaping at the girl's legs happily.

Reaching out, Grace smoothed the peeling name patch on Lafayette's uniform with her hand, running her thumb over the white capitalized VANCOUGHNETT. "Welcome home," she offered softly, giving him a small grin.

He beamed at her, eyeing the small hand that was currently petting his chest with a raised brow. "Glad to be here in one piece."

"Relatively," she replied. "I should stitch this for you," she mused, playing with the tattered edges of the patch. "You're really starting to look like an awful scarecrow."

"But at least I'm clean shaven," he stated with a wink.

Grace reached up and touched a hand to the scruff he accumulated while he was gone and made a small, doubtful sound in her throat.

"Relatively," he added.

"You'd better give me the jacket, honey, I can patch it for you," she ordered suddenly. "Vest too."

Lafayette arched a brow at her, before removing his rifle, setting it on the back of a nearby truck and dropping his heavy pack on the ground in order to shed both his vest and his jacket, handing both to her.

Hefting the heavy Kevlar vest in her hands, Grace eyed him quietly, folding the jacket over her forearm. She wondered how he managed to go about under all that weight, the pack looked heavy, the vest was about twenty pounds give or take a few, she'd imagine all those little things he kept in the various pockets on his person just added to the weight he carried.

"Now I'm cold," he complained.

"It's Georgia, honey, not the Arctic tundra, you'll survive." She argued.

"I'm afraid you're underestimating the heat and humidity I was born and raised with down on the bayou, _bele_. It's basically hell with better food."

Shifting on her feet, Grace studied him, his smile was a little painted on and his tone was perhaps not as open as it normally was.

"Are you alright, Lafayette?" She asked him.

"Sure, yeah," he nodded, scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb.

Reaching out she gripped his upper arm. "There are people here who love you and need you," she said. "You can't take this loss personally. No more getting drunk on wine in our cemetery, yes?"

He nodded.

"Are you actually listening to me or are you just nodding your head?" She demanded.

"I hear you, Grace."

Moving her hand from his arm to his chin, she gripped it lightly. "Lafayette? Are you listening to me?" She repeated firmly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Hm, best get yourself shaved as soon as possible," she stated feeling his scruff.

He playfully saluted her.

Grace eyed the man for a moment. His pointed features, his patrician nose, the arch of his brows. She had never really looked at him before, not as a woman, but there was an appeal to his looks that charmed her a little.

He wasn't devilishly good looking in an overly masculine way like Daryl, or classically good looking like Rick, in fact the Cajun could have been classified as elfish and with the dark fringe of thick lashes around his grey eyes he could almost pass for a pretty boy of sorts, but his looks appealed to her. He was appealing to her as a man.

Grace felt an unfamiliar flush take to her cheeks and she dropped her chin and her hand. "Well, things won't get done milling about like this," she mused.

"Of course," he agreed, clearing his throat. "Always things to do."

"You could kiss her right now," Annie chirped. "I don't think she'd mind!"

The Lieutenant chuckled and backed up a few steps sheepishly. "Well, I could, _boo_, but as you know babies come from kissing and I don't think we need another mouth to feed around here."

"That's okay," Annie stated. "The baby could have my vegetables."

Turning to the little girl, Grace pointed her in the direction of the dorms. "Get inside those dorms, little lady," she ordered with a small grin. "You'd better hope I don't catch you telling other people to kiss. We're living in a convent, not a house of ill repute."

"But you _wouldn't_ mind," Annie argued.

"Nobody likes a busybody, Annie Louise, now get your hinder in those dorms," Grace ordered.

"I ain't being a busybody," Annie protested.

"Ladies don't say 'ain't', honey," Grace gently guided the girl in the direction of the dorms, glancing back over her shoulder to find the Lieutenant standing there with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

"You just did," Annie argued.

Flushing, Grace ushered the girl into the dorms quickly. "I swear I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Annie Louise."

******************..-~-..**

* * *

**********************..-~-..**

By the time she finished the dishes with Annie, Grace was looking to get to work preparing Maggie's body for her burial. The other sister's had moved the poor woman into the church and were already washing and redressing it, but Grace had hoped to help them out. She felt it would be one small way she could prove useful to the others as they were apparently risking their lives daily and she was holed up behind walls living an easy life.

With Annie in hand she headed for the storage shed where she knew Carol would be, hoping she wasn't interrupting anything, but needing someone to watch Annie.

"I wouldn't bother her," Merle growled from where he sat repairing his bladed stump on the lawns in the shade of a small magnolia tree.

Grace paused as she passed him, her hand tightening around Annie's. "Are they…?"

"Nope, she's been in there crying for about an hour." He replied calmly.

"Crying? Where's Daryl?"

"Dummy moved his things back into the garden shed," Merle said. "Encroaching on my space once more."

"And you just decided to let Carol cry alone?"

Merle sniffed and looked up at her. "I'm not exactly a teddy bear," he stated. "I don't provide comfort."

"Of course, you're just a big, old, snake of a man, right?" She inquired.

"Yep, mean as the devil."

Annie gasped.

"Do you think you could find it in your cold, cold heart to watch Annie for me for a moment while I go in and see what's wrong?" Grace asked.

Merle eyed the kid. "Are you sure you want to trust me with a child? I could corrupt her."

"You could, but I don't think you would."

"You put too much faith in me, sister," he replied with a grin.

Releasing Annie's hand, Grace looked down at the little girl. "You be good and stay with Merle, okay?"

"Okay," Annie replied, turning to flop on the ground beside Merle. "Hi, Mr. Merle!"

"Runt," he returned.

"Thank you, Merle."

"Don't be long, I got shit to do."

Annie gasped again.

"You have _things_ to do, right, Merle?" Grace asked.

Merle eyed her. "That's what I said '_shit_ to do', woman. Don't be long."

Grace eyed the man for a moment, before deciding it was alright, Annie may learn a few new words, but Merle was hardly a threat to a child.

******************..-~-..**

* * *

**********************..-~-..**

Grace knocked on the shed door and waited patiently.

The woman came to the door looking calm, red eyes giving her previous activity away.

"Grace? I know, I should be out there helping, I just—"

"It's alright, Carol, we have plenty of hands to make light of the workload." Peering past Carol into the shed, Grace noticed a lack of Daryl or any of his things and clasped her hands together. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Carol insisted stepping out of the shed and closing the door behind her.

Deciding it was better to comfort her for something everyone knew about and not something Carol wasn't willing to share yet, Grace held open her arms. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry about Maggie. I didn't know her well, but she seemed like a sweet, strong woman."

Carol accepted the hug quietly. "Herschel must be taking it so hard," she said.

"That poor man, I believe Sister Mary Agnes took the lot of them into the infirmary for now."

"I'd like to help prepare her body, if that's okay?" Carol said. "We didn't have much chance to do it for the others, but I'd like to make her look good for them one last time."

"Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind watching Annie while I went to help the other sisters with Maggie, the poor girl is getting cabin fever and I'm afraid she might take off beyond the wall one day looking for trouble or an adventure whichever comes first."

Glancing around, Carol shielded her eyes from the sun as they made their way over to where Merle was watching Annie. "It's going to be dark soon, I suppose I could watch Annie while cooking some dinner for us."

"That would be kind of you."

"I wish Annie and Carl weren't on the outs," Carol admitted softly. "That boy did a good job keeping an eye on her."

Grace followed Carol's gaze to where Carl was walking the wall and smiled softly.

"Poor boy feels awful about what he did, but I think he doesn't know quite what to do about it," Grace admitted.

"You're not mad at him about it?"

"Of course not, I understand why he did it, I know there wasn't any malicious intent on his part. Annie just…she's had a hard lesson learned about handguns, apparently."

Carol was silent.

"They'll both get over it, children often overcome grudges much easier than adults."

"Mother Mena! Mr. Merle said three bad words and then he spit!" Annie tattled from where she sat beside Merle under the tree.

"I said two bad words," Merle argued, "ass isn't a bad word it's in the bible."

"Does that mean I ca—"

"No." Grace stated firmly. "You can be a proper little lady and refrain from using the flavourful lexicon of Mr. Merle Dixon."

"Just words," Merle replied. He turned his eyes on Carol at Grace's side and sniffed. "Everything okay with you?"

"Just fine, Merle." She replied.

"Yeah? So my baby bro leaving your little home for the frat house is 'just fine' with you?"

"That's our business, Merle."

"You're about to make it the convent's business soon enough once my baby bro has time to really vent his frustration," Merle replied calmly. "You think he's done sulking and storming around yet? Knowing him you're all in for one hell of a shit storm."

Beside Merle Annie gasped again, then giggled, she was silenced by a stern look and a pointed finger from Grace.

"Knowing Daryl he's about to become one hell of a recluse emotionally, probably snarl and bite like some dumb assed geek, wandering around here looking for someone to pick a fight with," Merle went on.

Carol blinked at the man quietly, taking in everything he had to say with a patience that impressed Grace given the situation.

"Well, he can sulk and storm all he wants," Carol replied calmly. "I have dinner to get started right now. Come on, Annie, you're with me for a while."

The little girl hopped up with a grin. "Okay! Can Boo come too?"

"Of course."

"Bye Mr. Merle! Don't worry, I won't tell anyone else about the bad words you said!"

"I don't give a rat's ass," Merle replied gruffly. "Shit, tell everyone if you want."

Grace offered the man a stern look as Annie and Carol wandered off, her hand going to her throat. "You threw those last ones in just to be puerile, didn't you?"

Merle grinned. "That's the flavourful lexicon of Mr. Merle Dixon, sister."

With nothing much more to be done other than sigh, Grace eased against the tree at his side, hand still at her throat, eyeing Carol in the distance. "Is there anything you can do, Merle? Talk to him maybe?"

"Naw, I don't do that shit." He said simply. "Could try that man of yours, though," he added after a moment. "Seems the weepy womanly type, might be able to get through Daryl's thick pig head with some flowery words or some such crap."

"Man of mine?" Grace demanded. "And which one of these gentlemen do you think is mine, Mr. Dixon?"

"Don't pull that horseshit with me, sister." Merle growled, pointing with his blade towards the trucks where the Lieutenant was still unloading an assortment of supplies and ammo.

Tsking, Grace pushed off from the tree. "One can hardly call him mine, honey. Last I checked I was a nun."

"Former, isn't it?" He called after her.

"Still a nun," she shouted back.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Caisse** – The back of a truck.


	56. Freesons

**MollyMayhem84 - I agree on the whole ant thing. I try to corral them into a jar and then toss them outside, even spiders (whom I loathe entirely).**

**skittletitz - We're not being kind, we're being honest. Your work is just too damned gorgeous. *calls upon inner Michonne***

**Pass the Porn Tea - Oh yeah, I finally get to write 'porn' and 'tea' in the same sentence...anyways, ignore my dumb assed comment on your screen name. Thanks for the review! I feel your hurt. When Daryl Dixon cries you just want to find whoever is responsible and hurt them, badly.**

**GG - I agree wholeheartedly on the 'make yourself less of a target' mentality. And while Daryl wasn't exactly abusive to her, she was wounded by him leaving and I think she's gone back to that stiff upper lip Carol in an effort to cope.**

**Sira1 - Oh gosh, I'm really embarrassed at your kind words. The fact that you couldn't get this story out of your head just makes me blush a little. Thank you! (I'm glad you're with me on the sappy Glenn/Maggie thing...like really? Carol and Daryl get little to no interaction and Glenn's just going to propose with a severed walker ring?...basically a ring he stole off a corpse. Mmm romance!)**

**SilverWolf84 - Sorry to hear you've been sick. I hope you're feeling better. I just had a wicked stomach flu this Monday that decided it wanted to infect me on my last week of class before my practicum...lovely.**

**LaurenEmilyxx - I hope you passed your exam...I'd hate for you to have failed because of this silly fanfic of mine. ^_^ Thanks a lot for the review!**

**Sorry I couldn't get back to all my lovely reviews, huge influx again. But you are all much loved. No lies. These updates come so fast because of you, so really you should be thanking yourselves for motivating a starving college girl...**

**That being said, I'm sorry it's an OC chapter again...I promise it's with a purpose...we're trying to resolve the Caryl tension thing, kids! We need this chapter...**

**...sorry.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Six: Freesons**

****The Lieutenant****

Sitting on his cot later that night eating his meal, the Cajun couldn't help but feel that the garden shed was a little more crowded than it had been the last night he slept there.

Motioning with his fork in the direction of Daryl, asking Merle silently what was up, he received a shrug from Merle and was basically told to forget about it.

From the cot he claimed after Daryl left, Rick too eyed the man quietly as he ate his evening meal, unsure what to do or say.

So the three men avoided the subject by eyeing their food like it was a Sunday afternoon football game, while Daryl stewed over his own plate stubbornly challenging anyone to say anything about his presence.

"So," Merle sniffed, "a soldier and a nun, huh? Seems like the beginning to a good porno."

"Or a bad joke," Rick added.

"You ever notice how in porn the pizza never really gets properly delivered?" The Lieutenant pointed out. "It just sort of gets cold in the corner or mashed up in the action…then you get little pieces of cheese and salami stuck on the actors."

"Only you would watch a porno and keep an eye on the pizza," Merle grunted.

The Cajun shrugged. "Never watch porn when you're hungry, I guess."

"That's 'never go grocery shopping hungry', dumb ass," Daryl stated.

"Either way," the Lieutenant replied.

Everyone fell silent as Rick huffed a short burst of laughter, eyeing the man quietly, waiting for him to finally crack.

He just smiled slightly and bowed his head.

"Never thought I'd miss just sitting around talking," he stated. "Not having to kill or run." He trailed off softly. "I don't know what would have become of us if it wasn't for you and yours, Lieutenant."

The Cajun was quiet on his cot, fork of rice and game meat halfway to his mouth.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, for taking care of my people, for taking care of me." Rick stated.

"Your people? My people? Not much of a difference anymore is there?" The Lieutenant finally said. "We take care of each other, it's what human beings should do in times of dire circumstances. I'm only sorry that I failed you and lost Maggie. I've never made a stupid mistake like that in years and, well, how do you properly apologize for essentially killing someone?"

Merle scoffed, gathering everyone's attention. "Shit," he muttered. "You think you killed that girl? Hell, what happened to her isn't anyone's fault, shit like that just happens now. You can be as careful as you want, still going to be some biter somewhere waiting to chew on your ass if you're not careful. She made the choice to go out there with us, knowing the risks and we lost her. You have to start thinking of these civvies as soldiers, Lieutenant, they know the risks and when they're lost in battle you mourn then and honour them, but you move on. Isn't that right?"

"That is what we're taught in basic," the Cajun agreed. "I just never really thought of it that way before, I suppose you get used to seeing people die in uniform, not in jeans and pretty green blouses."

"Well, get your head out of your dumb Cajun ass."

"Thank you, Merle, your motivational tactics will be an inspiration to us all for years to come." The Cajun replied.

"She was so young," Rick stated. "She shouldn't have had to die that way. Not now."

"You want to pity someone?" Merle growled. "Best pity your boy Glenn. You of all people should know what it's like to lose someone you've had your dick in, Officer Friendly."

The Lieutenant frowned. The sentiment was there, but he was sure there was a better way to word it.

"Glenn has to go on now," Merle went on. "Alone. You think about that. Christ, you're all saying we're stronger together, but have any of you shithawks ever stopped to think that what we need more than a group is someone warm and curvy to come back to?"

At first the Cajun thought Merle was just being his naturally horny self, but there was a point to what he was driving at and somehow the Lieutenant had a feeling the man was addressing an issue that was a lot closer at the moment then Glenn.

"Glenn won't have that anymore, probably not ever again. You think you feel bad, think about how he feels, that was his woman and he lost her. To him it was his duty to protect her, to keep her out of harm's way and he failed her."

"You're spouting some heavy truth tonight, Merle," Rick said.

"You dumb asses better be listening, then." Merle replied, pushing his plate and mug aside and easing back onto his cot. "Ain't got a lot time to fuck around, she could be dead tomorrow and walking around as some other thing. But it wouldn't ever be her again. Ever."

Lafayette eyed Merle quietly for a moment, before turning his gaze to the man's brother who sat stubbornly in his nested spot at the front of the old lawnmower. He had a feeling the 'her' in that speech wasn't Maggie or Rick's wife or anyone other than the woman Daryl had left in the storage shed. Slipping off the cot with his plate and mug in hand, the Lieutenant sighed. "Well, I'm gonna take these back to the kitchen."

"I'll help you out," Rick said.

Collecting the plates and mugs in both hands, the Lieutenant shrugged. "Naw, that's okay, you get some sleep."

******************..-~-..**

* * *

**********************..-~-..**

The stars were out brightly in the night sky as he headed in the directions of the dorms, the full moon was shining off the dewy grass and everything was bathed in an ethereal light from it.

Taking a quick, cautious look around at his surroundings, he found it surprisingly quiet and vacant.

Only Sister Mary Agnes at the front gate and Tyreese's man on the wall could be seen.

Them and Grace quietly swaying back and forth on the swing tied to the walnut tree by the church. Realizing that she hadn't yet noticed him leaving the shed, he hustled across the lawns quietly in the shadows, setting the plates and mugs on the church house steps as he passed, keeping low and to the ground.

Smiling as he approached her, he moved up behind the swing and the woman like a panther, before leaning over the top of her head.

"Deathtrap, huh?" He cooed.

She rounded on him with a small paring knife drawn and he leapt back, sliding on the grass and falling directly onto his ass.

"Holy Hell!" He shouted.

Gaping down at him, she dropped the knife and touched a hand to her throat. "Lafayette, good heavens!"

"Where'd you get that?" He demanded, embarrassed to have been caught so off-guard by the knife.

"You told me to carry something on me at all times at night," she stated. "Good Lord, you've aged me ten years creeping up on me like that."

"_You_ aged?" He stooped over and scooped up her bitty little knife. "Really useless choice of weapons, _cher_."

"Better than nothing," she argued taking it from him and slipping it back into her back pocket. "I'm not about to go carrying a sword like Michonne."

"You really shouldn't carry it there, either." He pointed out.

"Is there a reason you're over here, Lieutenant?"

"Never saw a nun on a swing before," he replied with a grin.

"But you've seen one fly which is a much harder feat, I can tell you," she returned. "What on earth makes you think I can't test this contraption out for Annie?" She demanded, heading back to the swing.

With a grimace at the anticipated accident that was about to happen, Lafayette reached out and snatched the knife out of her back pocket before she sat back down on the swing.

"Mind your hands, honey," she stated firmly flashing him a wicked look.

"Knife," he explained.

"I've had it in my back pocket for days it hasn't punctured my pride yet," she said, pushing off a little with her barefoot.

He tossed the knife at the ground where it stuck into the earth and pocketed his hands, watching Grace swing idly. "Tomorrow I'm looking through the loot from the base for a better knife for you."

"Mine is just fine," she argued.

He sighed. "Yours would probably be cute at scratching the itch on a kitten's back, we'll find you a proper knife sheath too, something you can clip on or wear on a belt."

"I don't like belts," she replied sticking her legs out as she swung. "Too restrictive."

"_Oh ye yi_," he muttered. "You and Annie are a lot more alike then you'll ever admit. Where's your rifle?"

"In my office on the shelf," the woman replied.

"Think that's the right place for it?" He demanded.

She stopped swinging and eyed him archly. "Lafayette, since when has my carrying a weapon meant so much to you?" She demanded. "I never even carried one the first five months you were here, why should I start now?"

"Because I want you to be safe," he stated. "And from here on out you're going to learn a few things from me on how to defend yourself."

"Such as?" She stood up, folding her arms.

"How to take down a grown man," he said.

Grace chuckled. "Oh, honey, you'd better clarify 'take down' before I begin to think you're a wicked dog again…"

"You know what I mean," he replied with a small grin.

"Fayette, sweetie, I was sandwiched between four very mean brothers, I know all the hurt points on a man to get him on his knees," she stated, heading to the church steps to ease down beside the forgotten dishes, eyeing them with a small furrow to her brow.

"Military takedowns are a lot more effective then snakebites, _beb_." He replied taking a seat at her side, shoving the plates and mugs over with a metal rattle grating over the concrete steps.

"I actually preferred the jump on his back and knee him in the kidneys until he toppled under the pain and pressure method of sibling take downs," she replied calmly.

Feeling the corners of his mouth jerk into an automatic grimace of sympathy, Lafayette blinked at the woman in mild shock. "You know that can really damage a man inside?"

"Don't I know it, made my oldest brother John urinate blood once," she said. "I fight dirty when I have to."

The Lieutenant wasn't sure if he was frightened or impressed…probably frightened, it was always the soft spoken ones.

"Oh, honey," she said. "Don't worry, I felt bad about it afterwards."

"Still gives me _freesons_, _beb_."

"What's that mean? You're always speaking Cajun and I never understand half of what you say."

"Which? _Freesons_? Or _beb_?"

"I have a good idea what '_beb_' means, I meant _freesons_? _Bele_? _Cher_? Any or all?"

Slipping in closer to her, the Lieutenant made a small thoughtful sound. "Well, _freesons_ is…uh, let's see. It's, uh, the bumps…ah when you're scared. Goose pimples, is that right?"

"Um-hm, what about the others?"

"Uh, _cher_ is a sort of endearment, I suppose."

"What kind of endearment, Fayette?"

"Sort of, well, it's the sort that means I hold you in the highest regards," he finished with a beaming, crooked grin.

"Um-hm, and _bele_?"

He hesitated. "Oh? I don't think that one translates."

"Doesn't it?" She inquired.

"Besides, I thought you knew that one?"

"Lafayette?" She asked.

"Hm?"

"I wish you'd talk to Daryl, I don't think he should be alone in this world just because he's afraid of losing her."

"Yeah," the Cajun replied eyeing the grounds around them. "I know. I'll take him hunting tomorrow after the funeral, see what I can do. But…my gift of gab only goes so far and generally stops with the fairer sex."

"You're an awful flirt," Grace stated firmly.

He chuckled. "I used to be."

"Those poor women."

"Every last one of them."

Grace blinked at him, before pushing to her feet. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

******************..-~-..**

* * *

**********************..-~-..**

"Where do you think you're heading with that rifle shouldered?"

They were piling into the trucks the next morning to head to the prison where Glenn and Herschel decided they wanted to bury Maggie, when Grace approached the truck he was climbing into with Daryl, her rifle shouldered.

"To a funeral," she stated calmly.

"No you're not," he replied. The look she gave him had the Lieutenant quickly back pedaling with his tone and he cleared his throat. "You really shouldn't."

"But I am," she stated slipping into the truck cab, lowering the barrel of the rifle towards the floor as she settled it beside her. Exchanging a glance with Daryl, the Cajun huffed silently as the other man shrugged.

"Fine, _cher_, but you keep close to me, yeah?" He demanded.

"I'll tether myself to your right side," she said.

"You'd better hope you do, I'm not even close to fooling."

She blinked up at him, before looking past him and motioning someone over.

The Lieutenant stepped back from the door as Carol moved to enter, sliding into a spot beside Grace. Glancing up he spied Daryl looking less than thrilled, but the man quietly eased in behind the wheel.

Squeezing his frame into the truck with the other three, he found it hard to shut the door but managed just fine, crushed up between Carol and her rifle and his own rifle and the door, was more or less awkward for him, but he managed.

As they left the convent gate behind, the Lieutenant cast a glance across the women to Daryl who was eyeing the road darkly, following behind Rick and Glenn in the makeshift funeral truck.

He wasn't sure how Daryl felt about Carol outside the convent walls, he was certain the woman was used to being in the unprotected wilderness beyond them, but he was sure sitting on prickles with Grace in the truck with them.

The woman was damned stubborn.

The first uggie they drove past, the Lieutenant was certain he saw Grace lean forward in the seat, but he wasn't sure if it was fascination or fear that led her to investigate the creature further as Daryl slowed the truck as the head truck pulled to a stop in order for them to turn onto the highway.

Tensing in anticipation, the Lieutenant eyed the uggie as it noticed them and began a hectic shuffle towards their vehicles. He knew that there was only one visible uggie, but that a herd of them could very well lurk anywhere nearby in the forest surrounding them and he found it was an unpleasant experience to have someone he cared for out among the threats and dangers of the world beyond the walls.

Preparing to hop out at the creature should the need arise, he touched a hand to the handle on the door and the other to his rifle, but as it approached it veered off, heading for the truck ahead of them. Glenn opened the door and knocked the thing over, hopping out to crush it's head under his boot.

"Don't look, _cher_," the Lieutenant suggested to Grace.

The woman refused to listen to him, watching the entire, gory scene quietly, eyes wide as Glenn vented a little anger and frustration on the thing.

"We shouldn't have let her come," Daryl snarled.

"Oh, good Lord," Grace huffed. "I'm not a delicate rose petal, you two."

"Yeah, wind up like Maggie, ain't my fault," the youngest Dixon went on.

Even though the comment was directed at Grace, the Lieutenant had a feeling that Daryl was actually thinking of the other woman in the truck as he complained.

"Think you're underestimating our ability to take care of ourselves," Carol spoke gently, her tone holding a sharp, almost firm quality to it.

"Good, don't look to me to save your asses," Daryl replied. "You want to be stupid and throw yourselves into the fire pit."

Crouching low in his spot, the Lieutenant realized that he may have chosen the wrong truck to ride in.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Freesons** - Goosebumps


	57. Babiller

**HGRHfan35 - You're right, there is a distinct lack of kissing in this fic...needs more...lots more. I'm working on fixing the broken Caryl machine! I'm working! But my spanner is all wrong and there's a part that's on back order...**

**Dianaxoxo - I would love to do it! I think it would be a great idea too!**

**A True Dreamer - No one will ever be over that tragedy, my friend. No one. *still bummed out too***

**zerogravityganja - Soon...*rubs hands together* soooooon...**

**AFishNamedSushi - Half of the outtake scenes from this story are just the men and women sitting around chatting...I should post all the outtake scenes at the end of this, there's so many and half of them are crack-y little things I wrote late at night with too much caffeine and sugar in me.**

**Brazen Hussy - You and me both. I'm so weepy right now...dammit.**

**Laura - Yeah, no kidding. Stubborn people are just...frustrating.**

**GG - I think Merle is a lot smarter than people give him credit for.**

**LuthielEarfalas - Well, thank you! I'm happy you think this one is your favourite, it's awfully sweet of you to say! Have a great day!**

**skittletitz - Hey, that cat had a lovely Mexican themed colouring scheme to it and you can't deny it had it's charm! All in all I've seen worse art pieces (believe me, I worked at an art gallery).**

**Surplus Imagination - Uh, unless I removed the scene, Grace said she joined the order to help out the missions in Africa, to really get among the people and help them, but nuns don't get to choose where they're placed, so she was stuck in Georgia...and yes, that girl is getting flirty. The only way to talk to the Lt. it seems...**

**Axelrocks - Oh God, it is Easter, isn't it? Daymn...where's my chocolate rabbit...? You have a lovely holiday as well! Enjoy your time off (if you get any).**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Seven:** **Babiller **

****Daryl****

Helping Rick lower Maggie into the ground, Daryl stepped back as Father O'Rourke took over, his bible in hand.

Herschel had asked the priest to attend, despite the fact that he wasn't Catholic, he had still wanted Maggie to have some semblance of normalcy in her death.

The priest had sworn to keep the Catholic parables on death to a minimal.

Not interested in the religious service so much as the walkers that were hanging around the fence nearby, Daryl sniffed and shifted on his feet, eyeing the things as they pounded pathetically at the fence.

Glancing back at the crowd huddled around Maggie's grave he noticed Carol off by herself. She wasn't crying from what he could see, but she looked like she was taking the whole mess hard. It could have been from Beth's sobs or the situation in general.

Daryl squinted at her. Rick had Grace and Carl at his side, Herschel and Glenn had Beth, but Carol was on her own.

"You going to go and stand with her?" The Lieutenant whispered from his side where the sniper had crept up silent as the stars.

The man had been circling the group, patrolling a protective ring around them, eyes outwards while everyone's attention was on the funeral, but he seemed to have taken inward interest enough to pause by Daryl.

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because that's your woman and she looks like she needs comforting right now," he replied.

"She ain't mine. Why don't you stop poking your nose into my business and go stand with her your damned self."

"Stubborn assed _couyon_," the man spat a little feverishly, moving off again, circling the ceremony with his rifle in hand.

Glaring at the sky overhead, Daryl tried hard to shut out the funeral. He didn't care much for them, too much pomp and sobriety for something as useless as death. Someone died and suddenly you were expected to celebrate the life they left behind? Like some morbid reminder that they had a good one and that they'd never have a chance to do the things they did ever again.

Useless things, funerals.

Turning back to the proceedings, he found the Cajun had moved around the group and was standing behind Carol, hand on her shoulder, leaning down to whisper something in her ear.

She reached up and touched the hand, whispering back, before returning her gaze to the priest.

The Lieutenant stood behind Carol, hand on her shoulder, held by hers, eyes darting about cautiously, still keeping watch.

At some point during the funeral when Beth began singing a heartfelt (and tearstained) rendition of _The Minstrel Boy_ Carol began to weep silently, tears falling from her eyes.

Daryl realized that the Cajun wasn't aware of the fact Carol was crying, she was often a silent weeper, never sobbed or shook and from behind her there was no sign to the Lieutenant that she was crying.

Gripping the strap of his crossbow tight, Daryl shifted uncomfortably on his feet. _Hug her, dumb ass, _he silently urged the Lieutenant.

Watching Carol's blue eyes fill with tears, Daryl began to realize that he was uncomfortable with the fact that her crying was going unnoticed. It reflected too much on what he surmised her earlier life with Ed must have been.

It reminded him too much of those soft sobs he could remember her emoting in the bunk of the RV that first night Sophia was missing. When she didn't think anyone could hear her.

Fuck.

Glaring at the sky again, he tried to shut out all thoughts of Carol, but couldn't help taking quick peeks at her.

Finally he tried to get the Cajun's attention, holding his eyes on the man until the Lieutenant's wandering, cautious glances came his way.

Daryl tilted his chin down ever so, gesturing to Carol.

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes, but seemed to get the hint, leaning over her to peer down at Carol's damp face as the woman quickly tried to brush the tears away at being found out, but it was too late, the Cajun spied the tears and quickly pulled the woman into his arms.

Relieved, Daryl gave the man a little nod and it was returned.

Watching the two, he couldn't help notice the way the Cajun ran his hand up and down Carol's back and flinched. The Lieutenant wasn't a proven ladies' man, but Daryl knew the asshole could be slick when he wanted to be and the idea unsettled him.

The man's hand travelled up her back and dangerously low. At least to Daryl it seemed dangerously low and by dangerous he meant for the Cajun, because Daryl's free hand was already curling into a fist at his side.

Glenn's sobbing broke over him, snapping Daryl out of his moment of silent jealous rage and he relaxed his hand, realizing how stupid he was being. The Lieutenant was just being kind to Carol that was all.

_It had better be all._

_******************..-~-..**_

* * *

******************..-~-..**

After the service, Rick gave them the typical 'we survive to thrive' speech and set them loose.

Glenn and the Greene's wanted a few moments alone with Maggie's grave, so the others spread out across the yard, giving them space to mourn.

Hanging about by the gate, Daryl kept an eye on the others. It was just the yard and there was a fence all around, but after the incident at Logistics, he didn't want to risk anything.

He could see the Lieutenant felt the same way as the soldier trailed behind Grace quietly, keeping a close tab on her as well. The former nun for her part seemed to be doing everything she could to keep the Cajun on his toes, wandering about, darting here and there to chat with people and generally moving almost erratically.

As an outsider peering in at the scene, Daryl realized that she may have been doing much of it just to torture the Lieutenant as every now and then she'd cast him quick, furtive glances, before moving on to another location. Still, naturally, the woman was a social butterfly.

Daryl's attention was on them completely as she stilled at the sight of a particular walker on the fence, the Cajun tensing up behind her as Grace began to slowly approach the fence.

The woman seemed interested in the thing hanging on the chain link and behind her the Lieutenant seemed interested in her reaction to it.

Grace stood about a foot from the fence, eyeing the walker with a mixed look of horror and fascination.

Daryl too tensed up at her approach to the thing, hand gripping the strap of his crossbow tightly, ready to tug it down and off at any indication that the woman needed assistance.

Behind Grace the Lieutenant raised his rifle, keeping it trained on what Daryl knew would be the kill shot zone of a man's head.

Without taking her eyes off the thing, Grace said something to the Lieutenant which was lost in the distance between them and Daryl, her hand moving back, palm out and waiting for something from him.

Lafayette shifted on his feet, rifle still trained on the walker at the fence, before he lowered it enough to reach for the new combat knife he had strapped to his side.

Carefully he handed it over to her, handle first, setting it in her palm.

Grace hefted the weapon, feeling the weight of it, eyes still on the undead thing that was gnashing and snapping like a rabid dog.

Daryl squinted into the morning sun as the Lieutenant shifted his rifle onto his back and moved to stand behind the woman, instructing her on how to hold the knife. As he moved in a little too close, the woman elbowed him gently, nudging him back off her and he stepped back, hands held up.

Grace said something to him, before turning her attention back on the walker, knife held.

It wasn't until that moment that Daryl realized she intended to put the walker down, that she was making an effort to learn something about the things that the Cajun kept her so carefully shielded from.

Raising his crossbow, he kept it trained on the walker, eyeing down his scope. If anything went wrong, Daryl didn't want the Lieutenant's woman to be uncovered, especially with the Cajun now nervously waiting just behind her to step in, rifle on his back.

Grace held the knife for the longest time, eyeing the creature, before she took a faltered step towards it. She seemed to pause only momentarily, before jabbing the thing in the eye through the holes in the fence. It didn't put the thing down, but she hit her mark.

Leaping back in shock that the hit didn't put it to rest, she pushed the Lieutenant away when he moved in to finish the job for her.

The walker wriggled madly at the fence, blade stuck in its eye socket. It reminded Daryl of a fish flopping around in the bottom of a boat.

Grace eyed the wriggling knife, before using the heel of her hand to push the knife in deeper, taking hold of it, she twisted it and pulled it out as the walker fell to the ground.

She stood for a moment, holding the bloody knife, free hand going to the base of her throat, before she stepped back from the fence, not once turning her back on the thing lying on the ground on the other side of the chain link.

Kneeling she wiped the knife off on the grass and held it back out to the Lieutenant.

Daryl lowered his crossbow, slinging it on his back again as the Cajun beamed almost proudly at his girl.

Grace offered him a little head tilt and said something, hand still at her throat.

Father O'Rourke joined them, moving to give last rites to the fallen walker.

Fucking madhouse of a group they had now, he mused, leaning against the side of a nearby guard tower in the cool shady northern side.

Nuns, priests and Cajuns, he scoffed, that's what was going to make up half their people now?

Turning his gaze on Glenn at Maggie's grave, Daryl winced at the younger man, before searching out the yard for the whereabouts of Carol.

He found her heading straight for him, that pretty sweater of hers wrapped tightly around her thin frame as though she were trying to protect herself from the world with just an eighth of an inch of polyester and wool blend.

Daryl watched her approach warily.

The thing was he was no longer as mad as he was yesterday, that maybe he regretted being so impulsive. But the thing was he couldn't properly function as a hunter and provider for the group if he had to worry about Carol.

She stopped about two feet from him, quietly eyeing him with eyes reddened by tears, her arms wrapped around her midsection.

He recalled telling her in a fairly cold way to 'stop bawling' just the day before and it hit him like a slap in the face. That may have been a bit of an asshole thing to say, he supposed, but sometimes when he was angry things just sort of came out in all kinds of hurtful ways.

"Okay," she began softly, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," he grumbled.

"Do you hate me or the world right now?"

He shrugged, looking everywhere but at her. All he could think of was Glenn's sobbing in the armory of the Marine base and how he didn't want it to be him some day.

She nodded. "Well, when you're ready to tell me what the hell is going on with you, I'll be around."

As she turned around to head back towards the group, Daryl kicked himself in the ass and called after her, "I can't," he paused unsure if saying it out loud would make things better or worse.

Carol turned back to let him finish properly.

Finding himself unable to finish that line of thought, he glanced towards Glenn, her eyes following his gaze.

Rounding her beautiful blue eyes on him, Carol drew her mouth in a grim line. "You might someday," she said. "That's what happens now."

He swallowed thickly, glad she knew what he was driving at without him having to say it. Talk wasn't really his thing. But what really hit him was how calm she was about that fact. How accepting she was of becoming walker bait someday.

Hell if he ever let that happen while there was a breath of air left in his body.

"But by my calculations I have about five lives left," she added with a small, wry grin.

He wasn't sure if humour at the moment was called for, but he was still grateful she was attempting it.

"The thing is, I can't make proper assumptions on how you feel about me," she went on. "So assuming you actually care about me, all I can say is that pushing me away won't make it hurt any less the day I run out of lives. Our time on earth is very short these days," she stated. "If you love me, be with me, but don't treat me like this. Now you think on that for today and I'll ask you at the end of the day if you want to come back to me, but I won't ask again after that. I can't be playing this yo-yo game with you for the rest of what could be a very short life. You want to throw tantrums and kick holes in the wall, you feel free, but you need to learn to control this pent up rage and frustration you have, because I already lived with one dangerous, ticking time bomb and I don't need to deal with another and I will not have you exploding on me every time you can't find a proper way to channel your feelings." She pinned him with a very serious look, the one she often wore when addressing issues of food shortage or medical injuries. "You have something that's bothering you, you talk about it, you don't grab your things and just abandon the people you care about because you're scared or angry." She toed the ground with her scuffed black boot, eyeing it quietly for a moment, gathering her thoughts, before looking back up at him. "You figure out what you want, you come find me, I won't be far. But don't stew on it too long."

Having had her say, Carol turned and quietly walked off, leaving Daryl to glare a little at the ground stubbornly.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Babiller** – To scold (usually a child).


	58. Farouche

**skittletitz - Hell yeah you loved that cat thing. It was a multi-coloured masterpiece. I'm hoping BAMF Carol shows up more before the end of this story.**

**Ms Q - I certainly hope he listens too. He doesn't seem like a stupid man, so I'm sure he did.**

**HGRHfan35 - Carol is really growing some cajones on the show. I hope she continues to kick ass right through the entirety of the show...to the end! Yeah!**

**Lilone1776 - Well, it's one thing saying go comfort her, it's another to see a man's hands all over her (in his mind they were bordering on octopus, I'm sure). We all know the Lt. has no romantic interest in Carol, but Daryl is just getting pissy about everything lately. Poor boy is confused and needs a hug.**

**ClaudiaHdzz23 - Well, thank you for the lovely review. Greetings from Canada!/Bien, gracias por la revisión encantadora. ¡Hola de Canadá! ^_^**

**GG - Rough times all around, huh? I'm hoping this lighter chapter makes everyone feel less bummed out about me offing Maggie. Also, the war is coming up fast, so this may be one last chance as happiness for many.**

**Dianaxoxo - I'm glad you liked her speech. And may your Easter bring you plenty o' chocolate bunnies. ^_^**

**AFishNamedSushi - I need more girl power in this story! Like a crapload more! Also, speaking of can't be drama all the time, please enjoy this lighter chapter filled with Daryl and Fay just doing stuff, you know? Thangs.**

**ldyjaydin - I agree! Soon!**

**Surplus Imagination - Thanks for your review!**

**zerogravityganja - Me too. He probably is a little proud deep, deep down somewhere too, though.**

**Supfan - I agree. And I'm honoured my fic is one of the first ones you head for when catching up. ^_^**

**alibabwa - Things are slowly untangling themselves, I hope. Thanks for the review!**

**Laura - Indeed! She's so strong and beautiful and gosh I love that woman!**

**So, as I've mentioned. Here's a chapter that's hopefully a little lighter, before we get to the heavy war and death and destruction ending that's coming up fast.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Eight: Farouche**

****The Lieutenant****

Stalking through the woods later that morning, they were on the trail of a quail, moving across the leafy forest floor, just him and Daryl.

Eyeing the scruffy man at his side, the Lieutenant tried hard to find a delicate way to verbally slap him upside the head.

Any other man he'd give him his basic drill instructor command of 'suck it up and deal with it princess', but if he confronted Daryl so outwardly he knew the man would probably kick the crap out of him. Such, it seemed, was the temper of the Dixon's.

"You know, I think Grace has been flirting with me lately," he said calmly, deciding to lead in to the scold gently.

Daryl eyed him quietly.

"Not sure what to do about that," he went on.

"Do whatever the hell you want," Daryl grunted

The Lieutenant followed the grumpy man for a moment in silence. The truth was he had noticed a little more playful flirtation coming from the former nun and normally a woman flirting with him was never left disappointed, but…well a nun was a different creature altogether. Hell, God could smote him dead for even thinking wicked thoughts about Grace, didn't matter if she had the cutest little ass he'd ever seen or a winning grin that could charm that snake in the garden of Eden down off his limb.

Hn, he never realized he actually knew about her ass until that moment. How long had he known that? Maybe he only recognized it because in those jeans she had taken to wearing it reminded him of a Georgia peach.

That thought shouldn't have made him salivate as much as it did.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Glancing up at the sky to ensure God wasn't watching him and his dirty thoughts, he hurried to catch up with Daryl, smirking at he _cabri_. "You know, I've been thinking about society and our new tribes, so to speak, and I've come to a conclusion."

"Keep it to yourself," Daryl replied.

"When have you ever known that to happen, _couyon_? And stop a being a little bitch, I'm trying to make conversation."

Daryl shot him a dark, almost murderous look. "Yeah? And I'm trying to hunt, you keep flapping your dumb Cajun mouth and you'll scare everything off for miles around."

"What are you going to do about Carol? That woman's hurt and she needs you."

"Carol doesn't need me, that woman's independent as all hell."

"She wants you then."

"Good for her."

Touching a hand to his chin, the Lieutenant rubbed it, "you know, I know you've been hit a lot in your life and I'd hate to add to the bruises and scars, but what the hell it's for a good cause." Reaching out he slapped Daryl upside the head, causing the fiery shorter man to spin on him.

"What the fuck?!" He snarled, shoving the Lieutenant up against a tree.

"Do you know what I did at the base before they shipped me over to Fallujah, _couyon_?" The Lieutenant demanded calmly, not concerned at all to be crammed between an angry Dixon and a tree. "I slapped troops into shape and I'm about three steps away from knocking your ass around this forest, getting it back into shape. You need to stop bitching and whining. Yes, everyone is poking their nose into your business, and yes I'm sure you're sick of it, but you know we only do this because we honestly care and love you and Carol. Now, you want to hurt her, that's fine, but you'll have to deal with the repercussions of having everyone else who loves her smack you around. This kind of behaviour towards someone you love is bullshit and you know it. You're not stupid, _cabri_, not by a long shot, but you need to wake up and realize that like it or not you care about her and you need her."

Daryl eyed him for a moment, before stepping back, releasing his hold on the Cajun.

"I think this would be a lot easier if you just kept your thoughts and opinions to yourself," the man growled. "I know I've been stupid, that I probably hurt her. I don't need you of all people telling me that I fucked up."

The Lieutenant shifted on his feet.

"I just…" the man paused, hesitating, "I just don't know how to…I'm not going to just crawl back on my belly like a snake, you know?"

"But you want her back, yeah?"

Daryl dipped his head once in confirmation. "I was...you know?"

"Scared. I get it. You don't want that hurt of losing her. But you realized pushing her away doesn't make you love her any less, yeah?"

Again Daryl dipped his head.

Eyeing an uggie approaching over Daryl's left shoulder, the Cajun nodded. "Alright, hold that thought." He wandered over and took out the uggie with his new knife, returning to Daryl with a smirk. "Okay, _cabri_, we'll figure something out together, yeah? Some kind of way for you to get back into that storage shed without having to belly crawl." Clapping a hand on the back of the man's neck firmly, the Lieutenant guided him in the direction of the Skunk Cabbage Creek. "Course, you may have to belly crawl…that woman seems more than a little pissed with you."

"Yeah," the man replied, before adding quickly, "so your nun is flirting, huh?"

"All signs point to yes and to be honest, I'm terrified."

"Because she's an ex-nun?"

"Because that woman makes men piss blood." At Daryl's curious look, the Cajun shrugged. "It's a terrible story, you're best never knowing..."

As they approached the creek, the youngest Dixon pulled to a stop, eyeing a bush of pretty white wild flowers.

The Lieutenant eyed the flowers with him, standing at the edge of the water, enjoying the forest for its beauty and peace.

"Hey, Fay, you got some kind of container on you?" Daryl asked.

"Uh…maybe, hang on, watch my back, _cabri_." The man knelt, dropped his rifle and his pack onto the ground. Digging through the seemingly bottomless pack, he came up with an old container of cashews that he kept in his pack for emergency situations and shook it. There were probably only about ten left in the bottom.

"Cashew?" He offered.

Daryl eyed the offered container. "No."

Downing all ten cashews, the Lieutenant chewed them idly, before spitting them out on the ground. "Ech! _Zeerahb_!" He had gotten a bitter one in the mix and it ruined the whole mouthful.

"Learn to chew, dumb ass," Daryl growled.

Spitting out the remains of the chewed cashews from his mouth, the Lieutenant handed the container over to Daryl who rinsed it in the creek.

Kneeling with Daryl by the rose bush, the Cajun leaned over and inhaled the scent of one of the flowers. It was a clean, floral scent, faint and sweet.

"Pretty little things, what are you doing with them?"

Using his knife, Daryl dug in the earth at the base of the plant carefully. "I'm taking it," he explained simply.

"Where?"

"Home."

The Lieutenant eyed the man for a moment, before shrugging. "Alright, I'm sure you have your reasons." He stood up. "I'll just watch your back then, yeah?"

Standing guard over the man as he dug at the rosebushes roots, the Lieutenant sniffed. "Hey, _cabri_?"

"What?"

"I've been thinking about Woodbury. When I go…thing is, I'm going make it back, I'm sure I will, but if I don't—"

"Don't be a dumb ass, Rick said we'll get you out and we will," Daryl snarled.

"Yeah, sure we will, but if something goes wrong, well there's this letter I wrote. See in the army they sometimes say to carry letters on you, you know something nice and personal to send home to the family, well I wrote one a few days ago, before Logistics. I want you to know if I don't make it out of Woodbury, that it's tucked away in my things."

"And? Who's it for?"

"Annie."

"No letter for Grace?" Daryl asked.

The Lieutenant shrugged. "What would I say? You were right and I was wrong? Sorry I got killed in Woodbury, but thanks for your concern?"

The youngest Dixon was silent, but the Lieutenant knew that wasn't an indication that he was ignoring him.

"Besides," he added, "something like that coming back to her if I'm dead serves no purpose other than to torment her further. The only reason I wrote one to Annie is to give her tips and tricks on how to hold a rifle, the girl won't use a pistol, but maybe something two handed might suit her better. Goddamned Disney movies teaching kids to shoot with both eyes open only proves to raise dumb kids who can't fire a rifle to save their life…figure she needs to know she has to sacrifice depth perception in order to line the shot up clean. Then she can open both eyes 'til doomsday for all I care."

"You're a real sentimental princess, aren't you?" Daryl demanded, pushing to his feet, the rose potted carefully in the cashew can, the lengths of its vines gathered in his hand.

"Well, I did put some things in there about staying away from boys, but…that's only because a good percentage of us are heartbreakers."

"Speak for yourself," Daryl replied. "I'm heading home to try to fix my mistakes, what are you planning on doing for that woman of yours?"

"Why is she suddenly my woman?" The Cajun demanded as Daryl spun him around forcibly and gently stuffed the rose in his pack. "I don't recall giving any indication that she was even remotely close to being mine. Besides, I don't think they like it when you refer to them as 'yours' like you own them."

"Don't be a pussy," Daryl snarled, giving him an almost playful shove forwards.

Staggering, the Lieutenant caught himself against a tree and scowled. "I'm just saying she's not mine by any means."

"Good, I'll be sure and tell Merle that," Daryl replied. "He's been looking for a good lay for weeks now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Merle can turn the charm on when he really wants to…"

"Hey, _cabri_? What's that supposed to mean?" The Lieutenant demanded as Daryl pushed past him.

_******************..-~-..**_

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

The sounds of snarling and scuffling broke over the silence of the forest as they were winding up their hunt, a couple of game birds slung on Daryl's back.

Heading home, they stumbled across a group of five uggies digging at the ground, one of the uggies actually stuck half inside a fox hole, her ass in the air.

They were so wound up in getting at whatever was in the hole, that they didn't notice the two men approaching them calmly, weapons raised.

Exchanging a quick, curious glance with each other, Daryl whistled shrilly, catching the attention of the nearest one, it turned on them gnashing teeth and salivating for their flesh.

Shooting a bolt in its head as the others caught on to easier prey, Daryl loaded his crossbow as the Lieutenant fired on two others who approached. Raising his crossbow, Daryl fired on the fourth, leaving the one in the hole to continue fighting with the earth.

It was only then that the men realized the stupid uggie was stuck.

"Dumb ass got herself stuck," Daryl pointed out as they approached it, weapons raised.

Sticking out his leg carefully, the Lieutenant gave the thing a kick in the ass, hoping that would get it in gear so they could put it down.

It was obviously trapped, one free arm clawing at the ground, the other somewhere inside the hole.

"We can't just leave it there," the Lieutenant pointed out.

"Go ahead and give her a hand then," Daryl said. "I'm sure she'd be grateful for it."

Eyeing the _cabri_ warily, the Cajun sighed. "Fine, hold my rifle, let me get a grip on the _putin_." Handing off his rifle, he positioned himself behind the uggie. "Be ready to put her down in case she grabs me, yeah?"

"I got your back."

Sniffing in the rotting flesh scent of the thing with a grimace, the Lieutenant gripped it hard and tugged.

Nothing happened.

"It's really wedged in there," he mused, moving his feet apart and preparing to really wrench on the thing.

"Yeah, well best hurry those gunshots might draw more here."

"Sure, I'll just grease up the hole and she'll pop right out." The Lieutenant bitched, tugging hard on the uggie's flailing arm. It tore off in his hands and he flopped back on his ass. "Ech, these things are nasty…"

"Keep at it, you almost got her. And watch the goddamned rose bush!"

"Thanks for the motivational speech, _cabri_. I was just about to give up." Grabbing the uggie by her hips, the Lieutenant yanked as hard as he could until both of them flew backwards. Finding himself underneath a wailing, gasping bitch of an uggie with a torn and nasty looking face, the Cajun grimaced. "Shoot her!" With his hands around her neck, keeping her teeth from his face, he winced as Daryl rammed his combat knife into her temple from the side, blackened blood gushing out onto his face.

Collapsing under her, the Lieutenant frowned through the gack covering his cheeks and forehead.

"Guess you found yourself a woman, huh Cajun?" Daryl inquired, kicking idly at her feet tangled with his.

"Yeah, well it's always the ones you don't want who throw themselves at you."

"How's the rose bush?" Daryl asked.

"Oh fuck your rose bush, _couyon_, how's my ass more like…fell on a goddamn rock…" shoving the uggie off him, he rolled to his feet and shed his pack so Daryl could check on the roses in it, moving towards the hole to see what the uggies were after.

"Watch yourself, numb nuts," Daryl pointed out casually.

Approaching the hole carefully, the Cajun knelt to peer inside it, the uggie had dug it pretty wide open, but it looked like the thing had twisted itself up in the roots of the tree.

From out of the darkness of the hole a low keening sound came and it didn't sound friendly.

"Think it's a fox…"

"Well, don't provoke it."

"I just saved its life, I'm not a threat. I just want to make sure it's okay in there."

"It doesn't know that and I'm sure it's fine."

Pulling a face, the Lieutenant was about to climb to his feet when a black and grey striped head shot out of the darkness, followed by a fat body.

"Jesus! Fuck-badger!" The Cajun exclaimed hopping out of reach of the hole enough to cause the thing to hurry back inside the safety of its home.

Behind him Daryl chuckled. "You jack ass, I told you to be careful."

"Goddamn thing nearly tore my face off," the Lieutenant said, keeping one eye on the hole and the other on his pack. Kneeling, he quickly slipped it on, taking his rifle off Daryl. "Let's get back home before I get torn to shreds. Heard those badger _salud's_ can be nasty little pricks."

"You mean those fuck-badgers?" Daryl inquired.

"What'd I say?"

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Farouche** – Wild, feral.


	59. Doux

**A True Dreamer - I think Daryl needs to talk more about the shit he's going through instead of just getting mad.**

**HGRHfan35 - Oh, I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was meant to be a comical chapter, so if you laughed, that's good. Means I did my job.**

**Brazen Hussy - Working on it...so many characters and not nearly enough time to write some quality Merle flirting with the ladies scenes.**

**skittletitz - Yes, the chapter with Daryl making up should prove to be beautiful...hopefully.**

**Lilone1776 - Thank you. I think it's cute that the Lt. gets to be an honorary Dixon. I don't think Merle would mind, as long as he wasn't expected to give a rat's ass about the man more than usual.**

**AFishNamedSushi - The sense of community on the show is a lovely idea. I agree that there's not much you can get by people when we live that close with them. It really is some kind of familial environment, isn't it?**

**I wrote this chapter as a huge 'fuck you' to AMC, but also it moves the plot along. So everyone wins. Except AMC, they never get to win, because they're mean to the characters I love.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Nine: Doux**

****Milton****

There was a time, oh about a month and a half ago, when Woodbury was a beautiful oasis in the middle of the rising dead.

Milton Mamet was a man of science, of theory and thought and testing and conclusions, but that didn't mean he hadn't ever read the bible.

_But your dead will live; their bodies will rise. Those who live in the dust will wake up and shout for joy! For your dew is like the dew of dawn, and the earth will give birth to the dead._

Of course, being a logical man Milton couldn't help but think that perhaps the bible was merely spouting poetic. None of that made any sense to him.

Since storming the prison and chasing the inhabitants out in a spray of gunfire and bullets, the Governor had become a man obsessed with hunting the survivors down and putting them to death.

Everyone was walking on eggshells around him. The man was growing increasingly paranoid and dangerous, the town itself was on permanent lockdown, Martinez and his men at the gate. Scouting parties out everywhere searching for the prison group survivors to put them to death.

But still Philip would stroll among his people, flashing those confident, arrogant grins of his, letting them know all was well, while behind locked doors any innocent straggling survivor they came across was tortured and killed just out of the Governor's pure unbridled frustration that they weren't from the prison.

The man had his hand burned, figuratively, and he retracted it, holding it close to his body, striking out like a wild animal at anyone who dared come close enough to him to threaten the safety bubble he formed around himself in the wake of the trouble with the prison survivors.

With Andrea gone those left in Woodbury turned to him for advice, but Milton could only give them the false reassurances Philip had ordered him to give. Smiling, touching them on the shoulders, telling them everything was fine, that the lockdown was for their own safety since the threat at the prison was still out there somewhere.

One wrong move and Milton was sure that would be the end of them. Philip would rather kill his own people then let them abandon him, especially now that his daughter was finally put to rest.

The rations were beginning to get slim, nasty instant eggs and some kind of powdered milk that was so thick and lumpy it was basically a cottage cheese paste.

None of the men at Woodbury were hunters, sure Martinez and his men could be cold-hearted killers, going after those at the prison like they were animals, but none of them had the tracking skills to get Woodbury fresh meat.

By his calculations they had a few more months before vitamin deficiency took hold and rickets seeped into the population of children of Woodbury. They needed calcium of some kind in their diet, it was originally why man started drinking cow's milk to supplement the lack of calcium in much of what they ate, but they also found it in the marrow of meat bones. Traditionally, while they stewed the meat, the marrow seeped out into the sauce, half the reason why meat was an important dietary need. As it was, he was expecting that without the canned fruit they had just run out of they would all be suffering scurvy in about three to two and a half months.

Every day he took a walk about the street, passing the gate, eyeing the heavy security placed there.

If he could get out, find Andrea, maybe she could talk some sense into Philip. But there were about three main flaws with that plan. He wasn't a fighter, guns and their owner's eluded them, he had no idea where she was and he honestly didn't think he'd survive three hours beyond the walls of Woodbury.

But every day he passed the gate and mulled over his options under the watchful gaze of Martinez and his men. His men might be willing to let him go find help, they had wives and children among the survivors, but Martinez was alone in the world and he seemed loyal to the Governor. He was the one to watch out for.

Milton was a smart man, how was it he couldn't come up with a better plan than just 'wait it out'?

Mrs. Gregson approached him, her heavily arthritic hand clutching at the hand of her grandson.

"Mr. Mamet," she began, "we're all out of canned vegetables now, the rations haven't been coming like they have in the past." She greeted.

Milton offered her a small smile. "We've had some setbacks with our rations, due to the invasion of the prison terrorists," he lied so fluidly now that the Milton Mamet before the end of the world would have thought him a psychopath. "But the Governor is planning a huge supply run of some nearby towns, we'll have regular rations soon. We just need to all grin and bear it." He said.

Why was he the one to have to deal with people? He wasn't really a people person. The intricacies of relations with others was foreign to him.

Under Martinez' watchful eyes Milton Mamet lied to an old woman and her eight year old grandson, he wondered if Martinez had any say on the matter.

Watching Mrs. Gregson and her grandson walk off, Milton wondered if there was any canned fruit or vegetables left in his cupboards. He usually ate like a bird, which didn't actually say much as bird's were quite fond of eating, but he ate like the bird people always talked about when they said someone who ate very little ate like a bird.

Turning away from the two, he continued his circling journey, taking him from one end of Woodbury to the other.

"Yo, Mamet, hold up!"

Pausing in midstep at Martinez' cry, Milton waited almost impatiently for the man to ascend from his post at the gate.

In the realm of arrogant pricks, Martinez was Lord and Master, but he was good with a gun and the Governor trusted him.

Sniffing, Martinez flicked at his nose casually. "You know, I've been watching you this past week and every day you wander past this gate at least twice."

Gauging the man's face, Milton wet his bottom lip. "I'm just trying to do my part to patrol a little."

"Yeah, well we have enough men on patrol, if you want to help why don't you go find the women, they're trying to make something edible in the main hall."

Milton blinked. "I'm not much of a chef."

Martinez chuckled. "You don't cook, you don't shoot a gun, what good are you around here, Milton?"

"I make tea," Milton said. "And I keep the records."

"Who needs records when babies are starving?"

"Why don't you go and hunt?"

Martinez shifted on his feet. "Governor says we don't move until the scouting party returns."

"Is that why? Or is it because you don't know how? Pulling a trigger is easy, tracking game with a higher IQ than you is a bit hard, isn't it?" Milton probably would earn an ass kicking for that, but both he and Martinez knew he wasn't talking about the fur covered animals the militant had his men out tracking.

Pushing his face in close to Milton's, Martinez growled low, "keep your eyes down and on the ground when you go for your little strolls, Milt. If I've noticed, you can bet your ass the other men up there have as well."

Milton narrowed his eyes at the man, this was a curious development.

Martinez sized him up quietly. "Watch yourself because my men won't always be on that wall to watch you back."

Furrowing his brow delicately, Milton was sure the big ape was trying to convey something to him. It almost seemed like the man knew exactly what Milton had been thinking the past week and he was okay with it.

"I'll take a different route next time I'm out walking," he assured Martinez.

The man sized him up again, before nodding. "Good, don't want trouble."

"Martinez?" Milton asked out loud to the man as he began to walk off.

The muscular man turned.

"Is there any way I could get a gun? I want to better help protect those within the walls," he said.

Martinez ran his tongue around the inside of his bottom lip, before reaching for the holster at his waist, unbuckling his handgun and handing it over slowly. "Use it wisely," he advised.

Milton eyed the weapon that swung innocently from the holster. How innocent the minions of evil could be while at rest, he pondered.

"You know how to use it?" Martinez asked. There was something in the man's eyes that made Milton want to just trust him completely, to break down and share his plan with him, but there was also that thin line that he knew he couldn't ever cross. That crossing it might bring death and destruction about his head.

"Yes, of course," Milton lied, taking the holster with both hands.

"Isn't like reading a book, Milt."

"Of course. I've shot ordnance before."

"Really?"

"Sure. Plenty of times."

"Well, make sure you let the Governor know I issued that, so he doesn't get pissed at the wrong man." Martinez stated, sizing him up one last, lingering time, before heading back for the gate.

Milton was caught in between thinking the man was cheerfully on to him and his plot, or the man just enjoyed the sight of the male form.

Not that his form was anything special.

Must have been the former.

Holding the holster and weapon awkwardly, Milton gave the gate one last cautious glance, before turning back and continuing his journey home, where he was at least safe from having to lie to people about the situation.

_******************..-~-..**_

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

Stepping into his little allotted apartment, he set the holster and weapon on the small card table and hurried to his stacks of books, searching them for a particular periodical.

All forty copies of _Guns & Ammo_ had been stacked at the very bottom of a large pile of _National Geographic_ and he had to move the yellow bordered magazines to get at the ones he wanted.

Quickly, Milton went through them, looking for an article that would help him even begin to identify the handgun he was given.

He wasn't sure if he could even work up the courage to hop the gate, but if he found himself doing it suddenly, he wanted to know all he could about the weapon he was heading out with.

What he wouldn't give for _Google_.

_******************..-~-..**_

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

Three mugs of tea later and Milton was turning on the lamp in his room so that he could keep reading. He found nothing about the particular make and model of the handgun, but he narrowed it down to either a .45 or a 9mm. Measuring the tube ruled it out as a 9mm, so Milton was left to assume his weapon was a Glock .45 military issue.

Flicking the safety on and off again, Milton got used to the amount of strength it took to switch the handgun from safe mode to hot and ready to fire. Referencing the magazines for closest relatives to his gun, he emptied it of all rounds, including the very deadly and often overlooked one in the chamber, and pulled the trigger, familiarizing himself to the give it took for the gun to be fired.

Reloading the gun, he slipped the round back into the clip and smacked the clip back into place within the grip of the gun where it clicked and was ready to fire.

It held thirteen rounds, so that plus the twenty rounds that came attached to the gun gave him thirty-three shots.

He wasn't so sure he could make it outside the compound of Woodbury with only thirty-three shots.

Milton had no idea where to even begin looking for help. But he figured if he could find the remnants of the prison group, he might find Andrea and Andrea would know best what to do.

Knowing he probably wouldn't make it far outside the walls, he took a few stone silent moments to weigh his options. If he stayed and the Governor kept on the same vein, the children would get sick and malnourished, the adults soon afterwards. But if he went, if he left the safety of his handfed life behind the walls he probably wouldn't make it far before something got a hold of him.

That was a displeasing idea, but less so than starving children and hopeless times in a military state.

Inhaling deeply, he went back to familiarizing himself with his weapon. Something he found distasteful, but necessary. One of those things he found seemed fairly common in these end times.

No, he figured, if he prepared himself properly he could make it outside the walls long enough to help the innocents of Woodbury. Even if he at least found them food or something better to supplement their diets with than powdered eggs and past due instant milk.

Unless the Governor gunned him down before he even stepped foot outside the walls…

Moving to the window, Milton peered out at the street, eyeing how dead it was, barely anyone moved. He could recall a time when Philip had a street BBQ almost every day, how he'd serve lemonade and cookies to the group, but now it was silent, quiet.

He wondered if that's how Krakow felt before the liquidation, everyone sensing things were about to get bad, everyone waiting for judgement. Not saying he was likening Philip to Hitler, but…military regimes were the same everywhere, weren't they? They were the men in power who wanted to throw their weight around, to remind people that they were – in fact – the ones in charge.

Men like Milton were the ones who died foolishly trying to make a stand.

Maybe he wasn't as smart as he had always assumed.

Eyeing the Hooper's door where the faint sounds of Mrs. Hooper's newborn baby could be heard, Milton realized that foolish he may be, but if he actually managed to pull off his escape, maybe he could be more use to the people then just lying to their faces and giving them reassurances about things that even he was unsure about.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Doux** – Gentle, sweet.

**Zeerahb** (from the chapter before, apologies) - Disgusting


	60. Fleur

**Brazen Hussy - Gosh, I haven't written much Merle lately, have I? Dear...I should find time to write a Merle chapter...that man deserves it after the rough year he's had.**

**HGRHfan35 - I was actually a little disappointed. The whole build up was epic, then it sort of fizzled.**

**GG - Oooh, Merle and Milton bromance...sounds interesting! Challenge accepted.**

**Ms Q - Milton needs more love. More I say!**

**Peta2 - Oh, I'm so glad you caught that! This pleases me! ^_^ How very observant you are...kudos! And thanks for the review!**

**skittletitz - Heh...Milton was kind of a sassy little fucker in his own way, wasn't he?**

**Axelrocks - I love that this is an AU fic...now I can honour characters who deserve it...(sneaky bastard, I am)  
**

**Surplus Imagination - I agree.**

**AFishNamedSushi - You know, if you don't follow me on tumblr, I've been watching Dallas Roberts movies like a fiend lately, because I was so impressed with Milton as a character and I have to say he's a pretty good actor...subtle in all his roles, but something about him...**

**MollyMayhem84 - You took the words right out of my mouth on all accounts. The battle was a bust and I was sorely disappointed that that was the Season finale...aren't they supposed to be exciting and thrilling? It was kind of a letdown.**

**Lilone1776 - I'm a little bit of a latecomer too, but better late than never, I say!**

**SilverWolf84 - Thanks. I was actually quite nervous writing Milton as he's not in the show enough for me to get a real taste of his character...but I'm glad he seemed spot on to you.**

**Well, here it is, the chapter you've all been waiting for. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty: Fleur**

****Carol****

Bouncing Judith in her arms gently, Carol cooed and crooned to the baby, smiling as Judith burbled and worked up a few spit bubbles.

Using the dishtowel she kept on her shoulder for such things to wipe away the spittle, she smiled as Judith hiccupped, before mewling.

"I know," she cooed. "Life is rough these days, isn't it?"

Around the kitchen the other women who were working on the midday meal stopped to beam at the baby.

"She's going to be so beautiful," Sasha remarked.

"Her mother was," Carol replied. "She was very beautiful."

"Do you think you'll have anymore, Carol?" Sister Mary Claire asked politely, playing with Judith's little foot.

"Oh, I can't, barely survived having Sophia," she replied. "But I have more than enough baby to love in my arms right now, don't I?" She billed sweetly to Judith.

Everyone paused as Beth entered the kitchen. The poor girl looked pale and lost, but managed a small grin to everyone in the room. "Can I help with anything?" She asked.

"Beth, honey," Grace began.

"It's okay," she interrupted. "I want to help."

Exchanging a quick look with Grace, Carol smiled as the woman invited Beth over to help her prepare the big pot they used for canning.

Glenn had brought back a farmer's cookbook on one of the first runs he made and they found a way to can meat. The women had decided to prepare the tools in case the men brought back another deer.

Giving everyone one last reassuring smiles, Beth went to work cleaning the pots for the canning process.

"You know what we need?" Andrea asked from where Michonne had helped her move into the corner chair where she was out of the way, quietly cleaning her hand gun. "A girl's night."

Half the women laughed at the idea, the nuns unsure what to make of that proposal.

"I don't think I've ever been to a girl's night," Sister Mary Elizabeth said from where she was seated across from Carol mending socks. "What do you do?"

Carol laughed with Sasha as Andrea looked trapped for an explanation.

"Well, normally you eat ice cream and talk about men—"

"And sex." Sister Mary Claire broke in almost excitedly.

As everyone pinned her with a look, the woman turned pink and bowed her head. "I've heard…"

"Sister Mary Claire, is there something you'd like to confess?" Grace asked with a small, cat-like grin.

The nun in question blushed an even deeper shade of pink. "No."

"Speaking of men," Andrea said with a cheeky grin aimed at Carol. "What's going on between you and Daryl? Are you going to forgive him any time soon?"

"I'd make him sweat a little," Sister Mary Agnes stated. "Mean thing he did to you, Carol."

Carol shrugged. "I understand why he did it. That poor man has been neglected his entire life to the point where he doesn't know how to properly handle the things that actually get past his barriers and he acts instead of thinks. I could never make him suffer," she smiled at Judith and added with a wicked grin, "but he is going to have to make a bit of an effort if he still wants me."

"Of course he does," Beth said softly. "Daryl loves you. Everyone knows it. You two don't even have to do anything for us to see it, it's in the way you look at each other."

Grace smiled. "You both speak entire monologues to each other with just one look."

"We understand each other, I think," Carol agreed. "I don't think I've ever felt like I've so completely understood anyone like I understand Daryl."

"Is he good in bed?" Sasha asked.

The entire kitchen burst into laughter as Carol flushed pink and buried her face in Judith's tummy to hide her embarrassment.

"I thought we were doing the girl talk thing!" Sasha defended her question.

"I second that question," Andrea stated. "Between us girls."

"Doesn't leave this kitchen," Sasha swore, holding her right hand up.

Peeking up from where she was silently dying of embarrassment, Carol grinned. "He's sweet in bed." It was true. Daryl was awkward and to be honest he got a little over excited at times, but he tried hard and while he would never admit it to anyone, he was a cuddler in bed, more fond of holding her in his arms then he was of actually having sex with her. She wondered if maybe it was because he felt he had shortcomings when it came to sex or if he was afraid he let her down and wanted to make amends by snuggling her properly. Either way she didn't care. Sex wasn't everything in a good relationship.

"Do you achieve orgasm?" Sister Mary Agnes asked.

Shocked by this question from a nun, Carol glanced over to see Grace's reaction and found the woman holding a hand to her mouth, a wide grin peeking out around the sides of her hand, her eyes bright with mirth.

The secular women all laughed at the question, while the nuns seemed unsure how to react.

"Isn't this proper girl talk?" Sister Mary Agnes asked, honestly confused.

"I haven't had sex in about two years," Sasha admitted, thankfully switching the topic of conversation. "I'm beginning to think it closed up down there."

"Thirty-one," Grace offered suddenly.

"Mother Superior!" Sister Mary Elizabeth gasped.

"Oh, hush up, honey, I'm secular now I can share," Grace stated with a small grin, playfully throwing a dry dishcloth at the young nun.

Mary Elizabeth beamed and grabbed it in mid-air.

"Well, now you have to share details," Andrea said. "That's how the game is played."

"Well," the woman began, shifting a little sheepishly on her feet. "He was the school bad boy—"

"Ooh, yeah girl!" Sasha exclaimed.

Grace beamed shyly. "And it was in the back of his 1970 Buick LeSabre…midnight blue, ding in the front driver's side wheel panel from drag racing…"

"Grace," Beth gasped, momentarily cheered by the woman's tale.

"We never actually went all the way, but…I did enjoy myself."

"Good for you," Carol stated.

"Yeah, good for me! That boy treated me like a princess. Sweet and thoughtful when no one was looking, typical bad boy when they were, but," the woman touched a hand to her throat, "drag racing was his hobby and there's a reason it's outlawed."

Everyone sort of fell silent at the realization that the woman had just confessed her first love had died in what was probably a horrible way.

She smiled then at them. "Beautiful car though."

Carol offered her a sweet smile.

"LeSabre?" The Lieutenant cooed from the doorway, where was leaning casually, listening to the entire story patiently. "Naw, Monte Carlo's where it was at back then, gun metal grey, burgundy interior. Do you ladies talk about us men often?" He asked, moving across the kitchen with his hands full of plucked and cleaned game birds.

"Not often enough anymore," Andrea said.

Dropping the birds off in front of Grace, Carol smiled as the Cajun leaned in to beam proudly at the woman. She pushed him back with the very tip of her finger, leaning away with a frown.

"Good heavens, Lieutenant," Grace scolded. "You're covered in gunk…what on earth were you hunting out there? Mud pies?"

"Oh, the adventures I had," the man replied smoothly. "Unfortunately, I can't stay to chat, it seems I'm the only XY chromosome here and it's making me uncomfortable."

"We're not at all scary, Lieutenant," Andrea pointed out.

The Cajun laughed. "Sure, cats are cute and innocent too until you see them after a canary." Pausing by Carol, the man placed a hand on her shoulder. "_Ange_, I saw a vagrant hanging about your home outside, think you might want to go and see what's up."

"A vagrant?" She asked.

"Well, he was kind of scruffy and swore a lot, think he was a vagrant…" the man winked at her and continued on out the door.

Carol cooed to Judith softly for about three minutes after the Lieutenant left, very much aware of how many pairs of eyes was on her every move as she did so.

"I can take Judith if you—"

"It's okay," Carol said, interrupting Sister Mary Claire's offer, pulling the infant in closer to her chest. "We're just going to enjoy ourselves a little, aren't we?"

"Atta girl, make him sweat," Sasha said.

"Not making him sweat," Carol said, rubbing her hand up and down Judith's back. "Just making him wait for a bit," she added with a sly grin.

_******************..-~-..**_

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

By the time she ventured out of the kitchens, heading around the back of the dorms for the storage shed, the sun was high in the sky, beating a heat reminiscent of the Georgian summer on her shoulders. Spying Daryl kneeling on the east side of their shed, she slowed her approach, watching as he rigged up some kind of netting made out of thin nylon rope for a Cherokee rose vine he was planting to cling to.

She smiled a little as he carefully settled the vine on the netting, getting it started in its new home on the east side of the shed.

Folding her arms she assumed a strict pose as he glanced over his shoulder.

Finding her there, he wiped his dirty hands off on the ass of his pants and stood up, motioning to the rose he planted a little nervously.

Despite trying hard to give him a bit of a rough time in making up, Carol felt a small grin touch her lips.

Daryl bowed his head coyly and sniffed. "Thought they'd…you'd like 'em. Figure we could plant maybe a few more…get them climbing the wall. It'll look real pretty once they fill out and bloom in the spring and fall."

The sound of his rough rasp sounding so timid broke her heart a little and offered him a larger grin.

He gave her one of his crooked, unsure smirks in return.

"Hell," he began gently, "I need you."

She didn't care that they were standing in the middle of the convent's yard, that anyone could see, Carol practically leapt at him, pressing her body against his, her mouth against his mouth.

Daryl's arms wrapped around her so tight she felt he would break a rib, but she didn't care one bit. The tightness of his grip on her was apology enough for what he did.

He kissed her back so carefully, so tenderly that when they finally parted she realized that tears were welling in her eyes and sought hide them from him.

Daryl kept one arm wrapped around her, the other moving to tilt her chin up so he could peer down at her.

"Those happy tears? I can't tell," he said.

She beamed at him. "Yeah."

"Good," he said. "Hey, I didn't mean what I said about you crying, darling." He whispered. "I didn't mean any of what I said."

She buried her head against his chest and nodded, tears falling.

Daryl pressed a kiss to her temple and ran his hand down her back. "I'll never make you cry again," he swore firmly. "I won't do it."

She hugged him harder, before pulling away to pin him with a stern look, tears still clinging to her eyelashes. "You better not," she stated. "It's a nasty habit."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm a mean man."

"Not so mean," she said, pressing her cheek back against his chest, snuggling into the warmth and scent of him, wrapping herself up in Daryl Dixon. "You brought me roses and you make me happy."

"Except when I make you cry," he argued.

"I cry easily," she said. "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

He pressed another kiss to her temple, before catching her lips with his.

"Okay," she said with a small grin. "You can come back home."

"Just like that?" He asked.

She laughed. "Were you expecting me to make you walk through glass barefoot?"

"No."

"Leave me again over something stupid and I'll never come back," she pointed out calmly. "Simple as that."

He dipped his head. "Yeah."

Reaching up with her hand, she playfully tugged at the grey patch of scruff on his chin and laughed. She could easily recall a time when Daryl Dixon actually scared her, he was so rough and mean-tempered, that the first time she laid eyes on him she actually pulled Sophia in a little closer to her, not just to protect her daughter but to comfort herself.

Now? Now he was the only man in the world she knew would never hurt her. Now he was the only man in the world she trusted to keep her safe, to keep her happy. Laying her head against his shoulder, she pondered a way to put into words the way he made her feel.

Love seemed too vapid for the feelings she had for him.

Lust was too vulgar.

Respect was too tame.

Admiration was too old fashioned.

Maybe there wasn't a word for how she felt for Daryl, maybe a word wasn't what really mattered. She didn't need to label it, because it just was.

Feeling him rest his cheek on the top of her head brought a whole new wave of tears to her eyes.

He needed her.

God, she never realized what she meant to him, not really. Daryl played his cards close to his chest, she knew why. It kept him safe.

But just knowing he needed her and feeling how hard he held her, she cried anew.

Carol wasn't as weak as she used to be, but she wasn't as strong as Michonne or Andrea, but she knew one thing for certain, she would tear any man clear to the ground should he ever hurt Daryl, with the fury only a wild hellcat could possess.

As much as the man would never admit it, he needed protecting too and since they were partners, mates, she wouldn't hesitate.

What was it about the man that made her feel so primal, so much like a she-wolf?

Pulling away, she stared into his smoky blue eyes and smirked.

Maybe it was because he was so feral himself.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Fleur** - Flower


	61. Chien

**skittletitz - Hm, interesting question...and yes, Sister Mary Agnes was over the limits of trying to blend in with the girl talk, but it amused me.**

**Peta2 - Andrea...hmm...well she might get more lines soon. Not sure when or how because of the plot and such moving along, but maybe. And yes, Grace did kind of set a standard for the Lt. to match, didn't she? Seems he might be the sort to rise to the challenge.  
**

**Axelrocks - Of course I watch Conan. The Cone-Bone is one of my favourite late night talk show hosts (him and Craig Ferguson), and yes I saw it! Hilarious and perfect in everyway! Conan's reaction, Mr. Rooker and of course Melissa McBride looking so perfect and beautiful and adorable...(I may have a huge lady crush on her...)**

**Dianaxoxo - Ah! Applause...*bows...trips and falls on the band in the stand below...two drums and a cymbal fall to the floor* Story of my life... ^_^ Thanks for the kind review!**

**HGRGfan35 - Yes, classic cars are a secret passion of mine. I can't get enough of them...I'm glad you enjoy the posts I make on tumblr of the classic cars, because no one else seems to. V_V**

**zerogravityganja - Often when I watch TWD all I can think is how Daryl just needs a hug...which led me to believe that Carol could possibly be very protective of Daryl from people who would want to hurt his heart...because let's face it, the man puts up a strong front, but he's a big softie that takes thing to heart quite often...**

**Lilone1776 - Oh God! I'd love to write a stupid scene where the Lt. and the ladies are just hanging around dishing...I agree with you, he seems the laid back, new age type who'd probably enjoy girl talk as much as any lady. Or maybe he'd be the type who'd want to be a part of the girl talk if only to get a better understanding of them, like a good soldier infiltrating the enemy...or something...I'm thinking too much about this.**

**AFishNamedSushi - I would be honoured to have you following me on that day when you finally get around to tumbling. ^_^ And I'd most definitely follow you back.**

**Ms Q - Merle chapter is coming up after this one. I swear! I'm trying to move the plot (I know this story has one, shocking, right?) along. But yes, more Merle to mend my broken heart...**

**GG - I agree on the hurting Carol thing, but as you also mentioned, Daryl is a smart man, he probably learned his lesson this time around and will be sure not to make the same mistake in the future.**

**ldyjaydin - Thanks! I enjoyed your story BTW...hope you don't mind if I recommend people here to go and read it...because it's fantastic and lovely! Much better than this reheated pile of dog food I'm writing. ^_^ (THAT'S A HINT PEOPLE. GO READ IT.)**

**SilverWolf84 - I agree. Women can be pretty fierce when it comes to protecting those they love.**

**vmg -Daryl is such a feral thing, isn't he? And yet I just wanna hug him...sort of like that alley cat who snarls and hisses at you, but you just wanna wrap him up and take him home. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - Are you just hinting for a smut scene? *tsks* Shame on you...^_^**

**Well, sorry for the lack of Caryl in this chapter kiddos. But Milton's just as cool, right? Yeah he is. God I hope the Governor is IC in this chapter...he's a hard man to write...damn...  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-One: Chien**

****Milton****

Three cans of baked beans, two bottles of Woodbury well water and as many .45 rounds as he dared sneak from the armory lock-up lay spread out on the table before him.

With his head bowed to his journal, Milton did a few figures on the paper there. He was doing basic calculations on his weight and the amount of food and water he'd need.

After three days he'd need to consume at least one of the bottles before he got too dehydrated to function properly. A grown man could logically go about twenty-eight days without food, but he'd lose strength after a week, that wasn't taking into account the fact that he'd be useless if his blood sugar ran low.

He'd need more, but he couldn't risk taking more food from the people who needed it.

Writing the variable into his calculations of finding food and drinkable water while outside the walls, he estimated he could survive for about three weeks, that was completely ignoring the fact that he could be devoured alive before then.

Eyeing the Glock on the table beside the water, Milton frowned. He managed to sneak twenty more rounds that were loose inside the armory, which gave him a total count of fifty-one, still not a comforting number, but better than it had been.

Maybe he could find some kind of makeshift melee weapon outside the walls…

Furiously scratching out his calculations of survival in his journal, he nearly missed the knock at the door.

Pausing, he pushed his glasses up with the knuckle of his pointer finger against the side where the arm met the hinge and eyed the door for a moment.

Again someone knocked.

Gathering the things into the worn canvas knapsack he had since the beginning of the end, Milton hurriedly tucked the pack away behind the massive stacks of books and periodicals he squirreled away for himself, and moved to the door to answer it.

The Governor stood on the other side, looking calm on the outside, mouth turned up in one of his eerily pleasant smiles.

"It's nice out today," he greeted, pushing past Milton into the room. "You should be out taking a long walk."

Milton quietly closed the door behind the man and followed after him as the Governor made his way to the tiny card table.

"I was reading," Milton replied.

Easing down at the table, Philip smiled again. "How about some tea?"

"Herbal or—"

"You know I don't drink any of that flowery stuff, Milton. Black always suits my moods," the man chuckled and it was deceptively light.

Moving to turn on the little propane element he had to heat his kettle, Milton fiddled with the knob for a moment, before turning back to face the man in his apartment.

"How are you sleeping?" The Governor asked.

Knowing the man had a habit of keeping things ever so perfectly pleasant on the outside, but also knowing his habit of using pleasantries to underlie issues, Milton hesitated before answering.

"Good, not great, but…I have my books," he said.

"Companionship is a thing all creatures crave, Milton. You should get out more, might do you a world of good."

Gathering up some of the Guns & Ammo periodicals that he had been reading only just hours prior, Milton tucked them against his chest and moved to put them away. "An open enemy is better than a false friend," Milton replied casually. "Books suit my needs more."

"Well, you're a grown man, Milton. I have no worries that you do fine on your own." Leaning back in his seat, Philip pushed his light jacket away from the gun at his hip and tilted his head. "I was talking to Martinez earlier."

The man purposefully left that sentence hanging, studying Milton for a reaction. In his paranoid and agitated state, the man was always fishing.

"He mentioned that he issued you a firearm."

"I figured with the terrorist attacks and such I should at least carry one."

Philip blinked his remaining eye at Milton, before calmly reaching for the pistol at his side. There was an almost challenging look worn on the man's face as he set the gun down on its side on the table before him, barrel pointed directly at Milton, finger caressing the side of it, just by the trigger.

"You don't like guns, Milton. I have to admit I'm kind of puzzled about why you'd want one now."

_Didn't they just cover that? Was this more of his fishing?_

Milton shrugged, moving to drop a teabag in the mugs he had set by the element, boldly and perhaps a little foolishly turning his back on the man and the machine. "With the terrorist attacks I didn't feel very safe without one."

"Do you know how to use one?"

"I'm brushing up on the basics," Milton said. "I think if an erect ape like Martinez can work his opposable thumb enough to use a gun, I can figure out the proper usage of one as well."

Philip jerked his chin towards his chest a little. "Milton, this is a pithy side of yours I've never seen before. Why the hostility towards Martinez all of a sudden?"

"You're right," Milton said softly, craning his head to peer over his shoulder at the Governor. "It's just been a rough week for me."

Sliding his hand off the pistol, Philip stood up and moved towards the shorter man, clapping a large hand on his shoulder. "It's these terrorists, isn't it? I agree," the man boomed in his 'Governor' tone, the one he used to placate the people of Woodbury like the charming snake he was, "if we could only catch these murderous criminals and bring them to justice, we'd all be a little less stressed."

Eyeing the hand on his shoulder warily, Milton took a moment to ponder the man's delusions, before speaking carefully. "You're right. The just needs to overcome the wicked. Maybe I just need more sleep," he muttered turning back to his kettle as it began to boil angrily, whistling at the pathetic scene it had been brought to life in. A short, scholarly man kowtowing before a tall, commanding man filled with inner demons and darkness.

Milton wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the kettle shaming him. He was used to placating bullies and jocks his entire life.

"We might fare better if we could send out a team on a supply run," Milton suggested, pouring the steaming hot water into the mugs gingerly, very aware of how dangerous the man standing close by him was, very aware of how hot the water was.

Folding his arms, Philip laughed. "We will, once I've deemed it safe enough to venture forth and gather."

"The people are starting to worry about the lack of regular rations," Milton said.

"Small sacrifices," Philip stated, moving back towards the table to ease down at it.

Turning from the mugs to allow them to steep, Milton kept one eye on the man who was back beside his weapon again. "The children will get sick soon without proper calcium and vitamin D supplements."

"Well, Martinez is less than a man, apparently," Philip began evenly. "Why don't we feed him to the children?"

There wasn't a breath taken in the room for an entire minute as Milton blinked at the very stoic man standing across the room from him. Finally the Governor laughed jovially.

"Milton," he chided, "I was kidding of course." Pushing up from his seat, he moved towards the steaming mugs of tea, picking one up and eyeing it, before casting a sideways glance at his scholar. Carefully, with purposeful movements, he moved to the sink and slowly tilted the mug, dumping the hot brown liquid down the drain.

"You should ease up on the tea," the man said. "It's making you twitchy."

Heading for the door, the Governor commanded, "the children will be fine. I'm close to hunting down the terrorists."

At the door, Philip paused, opening it and tossing one last, simple look at Milton. "Keep my gun, Milton. I want to see what you do with it."

Leaning back against the counter in absolute exhaustion, Milton hissed as his forearm brushed against the hot plate and he leapt away from it, holding his arm, eyeing the gun on the table.

Now he had another weapon he had to familiarize himself with and a reason to up the date of his exodus. Something about that visit didn't sit well in his stomach, like he swallowed a stone.

_******************..-~-..**_

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

Handing Mrs. Gregson the last of his canned fruit, Milton kept one eye on his task, the other on the gate.

In two hours the guards would change shifts, there would be a moment where the old guards would hobble down the steps and meet with the new ones to give their reports. If Milton could somehow be on the platform when the old guards headed down, he could hop the fence there quickly and sprint off into the night.

Well, logically that would be what could happen, but realistically he'd probably be shot at before he even reached the safety of the nearby houses outside the walls.

Walking away from Mrs. Gregson who was still piling praise on him for the meager bounty of canned mandarins, Milton marched determinately in the direction of the arena, hoping to find a better spot to hop the fence.

Pulling a sharp right at the sight of Martinez heading his way from the direction of the singles apartments, Milton hopped into a nearby building they were using to store spare clothing and linens, hoping to avoid the militant man.

Darting out the back way, he felt confident he shook the man, moving between the narrow path that was left between the back of the building and the makeshift wall, heading for the back side of Woodbury, where the Governor kept the collected infected.

Rounding the corner to get back onto the street, hoping he came up behind Martinez, Milton prepared to hustle across the street for his home, when a voice from his immediate left startled him.

"You're predictable, you know that, Milt?"

Glancing at Martinez who was leaning against a wall beside the mouth to the back alley, Milton kept on for his home.

"I suppose that's why your kind of meek freaks won't last long in this new world." Martinez kept on, following after him.

Stopping mid step, Milton turned on the man, quietly eyeing him. "It was my understanding that the meek were the ones to inherit the earth."

"You feel you're up to inheriting this shithole, take it," Martinez said. "Stop pussying around and just take it, man."

"Was there a reason you stopped me, Martinez? Or are you just looking to spend a little extra testosterone pushing around the meek?" Milton asked after heaving a world weary sigh.

"The Governor has our men stretched thin between hell and back, I'm going to need you at the back wall tonight."

Milton frowned. "I don't do that."

"You do now. You still have that Glock I gave you?" Martinez asked.

"Of course."

"Look, the back wall is heavily fortified, it's not like the front gate, biters want to thump and moan at the wall all night, that's fine by me. You don't have to shoot them, you just have to monitor them."

"I can't."

"You will or I'll put a bullet in your ass myself," Martinez stated. "End of conversation."

"I won't."

Martinez quirked a brow, sniffed and glanced about, before grasping Milton by the front of his plaid shirt, knocking him hard against the brick wall behind him. Milton's head hit the wall with a thud and he saw stars dance across his vision for a moment. "This is not a negotiation, Mamet. Your ass will be on that wall tonight or I swear to God I'll make every bully you ever had in high school seem like a butterfly flitting on your petals, princess."

"That hardly makes any sense," Milton stated, adjusting his glasses which had been knocked askew during the harassment. "But if it'll make you happy."

"Not really, but shit happens." Sniffing again, Martinez released Milton's shirt and stepped back. "It's time you started becoming a productive member of society around here, Milt."

"I _am_ a productive member. If running this place were left up to thugs like you we wouldn't have the water system I've devised to give us fresh well water in every home."

"Well, give it a few days, we'll see how useful you are then, huh?"

Not sure what Martinez meant by that comment, Milton frowned, but decided to let it slide. Nothing the man said made much sense to him usually. Martinez was a mean, tough sort of man who was made meaner and tougher at the loss of his wife and children, but he wasn't as dumb as Milton liked to pretend he was. The man was observant and it unnerved him to be put on wall duty so suddenly after acquiring the gun.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Chien** - Dog


	62. Derrière

**skittletitz - You magnificent bastard. Your Dallas Roberts poster was perhaps the high point of my year. (check it out at my tumblr blog kiddos, it's hilarious).**

**MollyMayhem84 - Don't think I'm not trying to off her...I'm working on it. Have my top people on that task first and foremost. ^_^**

**Lilone1776 - That is the question, isn't it?**

**Ms Q - Just for you, because you may be fairly new to reviewing this story, but you've been kind. I've inserted a Merle slap in this chapter. So enjoy. ^_^**

**Axelrocks - I know it's not what everyone wants to hear, but the next chapter after this one is another Milton POV again. But I swear the one after that is Daryl! Promise!**

**spygrrl99 - Yeah, it was a shame when he went, wasn't it? I need him alive and well in this story...because what's fanfiction if not a means to keep your favourite characters alive and kicking?**

**HGRHfan35 - You must be European, huh? Yeah, not a lot of the European classics over here in North America, but classic American cars are beautiful...all classic cars are, really.**

**Newsqueen123 - Actually now that you've brought the subject up again, you know who would make a good Lt. (imho) Richard Armitage. Yeah. Finally found someone who looked how I pictured him...this is a good day for me. Your suggestion was pretty good too, though. Hey, you all can picture him how you want! I'm easy with that idea.**

**Tigerlily xoxo - Did...? Did you call me a 'sneaky bitch'? I...why? Thanks for the review! If you want smut there's eighty billion other stories that have it written in and the 'we' you speak of probably just go there to read smut instead.**

**ldyjaydin - Well I honestly enjoyed the oneshot. Once this story is done I'd love to get to the multi-chapter (I don't read other people's fanfiction while writing my own to avoid being accused to stealing ideas...sometimes ignorance is bliss). But I swear as soon as this is done, I'm there to read it.**

**Well, you all wanted a Merle POV chapter and you've got it. What you do with it is your own business.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Two: Derrière**

****Merle****

"Mr. Dixon, I think you've got your hand on my undercarriage by mistake."

It was nearing nightfall and Merle had been passing by under the wall where Sister Joan was trying to climb down. Being a gentleman he naturally moved to help her. But with only one hand, had no choice but to support her in an awkward (enjoyable) way.

Merle smirked as he eased her onto the ground. "My bad," he said.

The nun eyed him for a moment, before tsking at his actions. "You're a hound dog," she scolded.

"Of course not," he protested with a grin. "I'm a gentleman for helping you down from the wall."

"Keep your hand off my derrière and you'd be the perfect gentleman, Mr. Dixon."

Merle maneuvered her against the wall, setting his wicked hand beside her head and leaning down with a chuckle. "Would you feel better if I said it was firm as a little apple?"

"I should slap your mouth for saying such things, Mr. Dixon," the woman stated.

"Aw, come on now, don't be so cruel, it's the end of the world and it'd be a shame for a pretty thing like you to go unappreciated." He said.

"I'm a woman of God, you can't say such lustful things to me."

"Lustful? Honey, nothing wrong with doing what nature intended men and women to do together," Merle cooed.

"Pray?" She asked, clearly misunderstanding him on purpose.

"You can get down on your knees if you want, but it won't be to pray," Merle said, tilting his head down, moving in for a kiss.

Quick as a viper the woman smacked him across the mouth just as she promised and Merle reeled back in shock, touching his hand to his mouth.

"Watch yourself, Mr. Dixon," Sister Joan scolded, before flouncing off.

Rubbing his stinging face, Merle muttered a few colourful phrases under his breath and hopped up onto the wall to sulk a little.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

Later as he was climbing down from his watch, he spied a group gathered around the fire as the sky had darkened and the cool night air invaded the land.

Moving to sit at the very edge of the fire, Merle found himself beside his brother and nodded to him.

Daryl returned the nod.

"How about a song, Lieutenant?" Sister Mary Claire suggested as those closer to the fire sat peacefully, enjoying its warmth, enjoying each others company.

The Cajun smirked. "I'm not the singer here," he teased, casting a glance to Beth who sat close between her father and Glenn.

Beth smiled shyly and shook her head.

"You're always singing, honey." Grace stated from the man's side.

"I miss the radio," he explained. "Doesn't mean I'm Frank Sinatra."

"Croon for us, Ol' Blue Eyes," Tyreese said.

"Yeah, how about a song before bed," Sasha added.

"Please, Lieutenant?" Annie chirped from where she was snuggled against Grace, between the two.

"Alright," the Cajun cleared his throat dramatically. "I," he began softly, "can't stand it, I know you planned it. I'mma set it straight, this Watergate—"

Grace playfully shoved him. "A _nice_ song, Lafayette."

"That is a nice song," the man argued as the others laughed. "You don't even know how many lovely memories I have while listening to the Beastie Boys. Course," he added with an impish grin, "those memories aren't anywhere near as interesting as the ones that happen in the backseat of a Buick LeSabre…"

Reaching over Grace shoved the Cajun hard.

He laughed jovially at her reaction.

"What happens in the backseat of a Buick LeSabre?" Annie asked innocently.

"Car trips," Grace insisted, glaring daggers at the Lieutenant.

Merle scoffed from his seat at the edge of the firelight.

"And nothing else," she added.

"What kind of car trips? Fun ones?!" Annie asked.

"More fun than the trips taken in the back of a Monte Carlo, honey," Grace sniped almost bitterly.

The Cajun tilted his head back and laughed.

"What's a Monte Carlo?" The little girl continued her line of questioning.

"It's a horrible car," the former nun answered, "that decent women would never be caught dead in."

It was entirely unfair to Merle that a scrawny assed Cajun could get the attention and affection of a nun and he couldn't even convince one to just get it off with him.

Hell, sex wasn't nearly as sinful as complete devotion to a mortal man. At least Merle didn't think so.

"Hey, dumb ass," Merle grunted, angry at everything the Cajun had for a brief moment.

Everyone at the fire peered into the darkness beyond where Merle sat beside Daryl.

"If I get you a Monte Carlo, would you do the group a favour and take the nun in the backseat and end this stupid G rated movie we have to put up with on a day-to-day basis? I'm getting sick of watching it."

The Lieutenant blinked, before angling his head like a confused mutt. "I don't follow you."

"Like hell you don't," Merle replied.

"Merle," Carol warned softly.

"Sorry, sister," Merle backed down with a smirk. "Just trying to move things into the PG rating."

"You heard her, Merle," the Lieutenant began with a grin. "The woman wouldn't be caught dead in the back of any Monte Carlo I owned."

Merle beamed as Grace seemed to suddenly be wearing the face of a woman who had shot herself in the foot.

"You two are so assed backwards in the way you approach anything, it's a wonder you haven't been cornholed by a doorknob," Merle mused, pushing to his feet. "Fucking pathetic the lot of you."

"Merle Dixon!" Grace scolded, clamping her hands over Annie's ear.

The little girl laughed, because she already heard enough to know she wasn't supposed to hear half of it.

Breaking the moment, the Cajun cleared his throat.

"Well, my name's John Lee Pettimore, same as my daddy and his daddy before," he began singing quickly and loud enough to cover any further cursing Merle might do.

Merle understood that he was probably just being so miserable because the Cajun could easily be getting his rocks off with a half decent looking nun anytime he wanted and Merle couldn't even get a goddamned kiss.

Fucking pathetic world they were living in now…he was raging horny and the female pool seemed to be dry as the goddamned Sahara.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

Lying on his cot much later that night, he pondered the situation. He could give himself a friendly rub and tug, but the thing was he was right handed and only just adjusting to doing things left handed. It'd be like a fucking whore with Parkinson's working on him and he wasn't in the mood to fumble with himself in the dark of night.

It would all be a lot easier if God knew how to share his women.

Sitting up as Officer Friendly entered, Merle and the man exchanged a simple nod greeting.

He harboured no strong urges to kill the man as he once had, didn't mean Merle was ready to go frolicking through the daisies with him. The two men kept their distance from one another and when they happened to be alone (on the rare occasions when the Lieutenant was mysteriously AWOL from his bunk). They usually just kept to themselves and basically ignored the fact the other man existed.

Tonight though must have been a full fucking moon, because Rick actually spoke to him as he removed his boots to settle on his own cot.

"You know where the Lieutenant goes most nights?" Rick asked. It was rhetorical, conversational.

Merle appreciated his effort, so decided to be amiable.

"That nun's bed, so I heard," Merle replied.

Rick nodded. "With Annie and that dog of theirs."

Scoffing, Merle eased back onto his bed. "Don't see how that stupid fucker can sleep so close to something so feminine and willing and not do a single damned thing about it? He must be hurting by morning…"

"Well, I can tell you right now a kid in your bed kind of ruins the mood," the other man stated, lying back on his own cot.

"Like a bucket of cold water, huh?"

"Very cold," Rick agreed. "Kids have this habit of knowing the tender areas and going for them in their sleep."

"Jesus," Merle sneered at the darkness. "Animals…"

On his cot Rick chuckled, arm thrown over his eyes.

The two men settled in for the night in the comfort of the little shed. Outside the crickets chirped lazily. It comforted Merle that something was living beyond the wall, the biters in the woods usually kept the birds and frogs from making noise at night, but apparently the crickets were more stalwart than that.

"Merle?" Rick whispered.

The oldest Dixon brother shifted on his cot. "What?"

"You know I depend on your brother a lot."

Merle wanted to scoff at the man, but he had a feeling Rick wasn't near done having his say, so he kept quiet.

"I want to be able to depend on you just as much," Rick paused for a moment as though thinking over his words carefully, before adding, "we all need you."

Was Officer Friendly trying to…what? Make amends? Was he relying on Merle Dixon of all people?

Silently pondering what the hell the man was aiming at, Merle scowled at the ceiling above him.

"Merle?"

"Yeah?"

"No man is an island anymore. We all need to work together and we need strong men like you to help keep us safe. Especially with this thing with Woodbury looming over us."

Not one to so easily forget or forgive, Merle sighed lightly. It wasn't like he wanted to see the group burn, not anymore, but he still didn't like the idea of being put neatly in Rick Grimes' back pocket like his brother had been.

Deciding he needed time to think before agreeing or disagreeing with Rick Grimes on the whole 'let's work as a team' thing, Merle rolled over on his cot and chose to ignore the man for the rest of the night until he could come to a decision.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

He awoke before the sun rose in the Eastern sky and slipped his boots on, struggling to tie them, not only one handed, but in the near complete darkness of the moments before dawn.

Finally managing to at least get the laces knotted in such a way that they wouldn't trip him up, he stood up and stretched, not sure how the long, lanky Cajun managed to get such good sleep on the narrow, short little cots. They were definitely built for women, as they ended a little abruptly for his liking.

Hell, the Lieutenant's long legs hung over the end of them so much he could practically bend his knees and rest his feet on the floor.

As it was Rick was forced to curl up in a fetal position just to sleep properly on the cot.

Usually Merle would be the first one up in the frat house, flicking the Cajun between the eyes on his way past for the morning watch on the wall, but without the Cajun he paused, eyeing Rick's sleeping form.

What the man said mere hours ago still disturbed him.

Lying on the cot curled up, the tall ex-cop looked innocent enough, harmless, but Merle still didn't want to be tied down by the responsibility of taking care of the group, caring for them like his baby bro did.

Still, eyeing the lawman, Merle wondered what it could hurt committing himself to the group. He had no real plans to go anywhere anymore. Things were easier, safer within the convent walls and the others were beginning to at least look at him less like the embodiment of pure evil and more like that one uncle who cursed and drank and embarrassed everyone.

Merle cautiously kicked a boot at the cot, shaking Rick awake.

"You getting up, man?"

Running his hands over his face, Rick cleared the sleep from his throat and nodded. "Yeah."

The man had rough nightmares, he tossed and turned so much in his sleep it was a fucking miracle he managed to get any sleep and Merle would have just left him to sleep, but Rick had a job like everyone else to do. He and Merle walked the wall in the early morning hours, when Daryl and the Lieutenant took off in the dewy morning to hunt for food.

Everyone had a job and everyone did it without question.

Work didn't bother Merle so much, he was used to it. Hell a high school dropout like him had been busting his hump for years just to make enough booze and drug money to live on.

What he wouldn't give for a good stiff drink.

Sighing, Merle dragged his own hand over his face and flopped onto the cot beside Rick who was sitting up with a groan.

"You've bitten off more than you can chew with this group, man." Merle said.

"Merle—"

"Shut up and listen, Officer Friendly," Merle interrupted him. "I'm not your henchmen and I'll never be a patsy for you. But you have quite a burden shouldered and when I see fit, I'll take some of that burden, but only on my terms. Got it?"

"I just need people to protect others, Merle." Rick said. "We need warriors, soldiers, men who can keep the weaker ones safe."

"And I've been doing that, haven't I? I'm not a goddamned monster, Smiley. I know you and your people think I'm the terror in the night and I know I've killed men for the Governor and I'll be judged accordingly by a higher power for it, but I have no interest in pulling apart the fabric of this unit. You need me on that wall with a gun, you've got it, but I'm not Daryl and I'm not looking for pats on the head for a job well done, I'm just looking to do my job." Merle pushed to his feet. "Of course, if you need me for anything, I'd be happy to consider it. All you gotta do is ask."

Rick stood up as well and Merle nearly knocked him out when he reached out a hand, but as it settled harmlessly on Merle's shoulder, the bigger man unclenched.

"Thank you, Merle. I appreciate knowing where you stand."

"Right here," Merle replied shrugging off the hand. "Just don't get so damned touchy feely, Christ."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Derrière** – Behind or buttocks.


	63. Masquer

**Ms Q - Well, here you have it, Milton chapter! I hope it satisfies! I agree, Merle could have really slapped Rick's efforts back in his face, but I think at this point Merle just wants to be left alone. Even on the show towards the end he didn't try to make as much trouble as he could.  
**

**rebecca taylor - And it loves you. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - Yeah, you know Merle, if he doesn't have much to do he likes to make trouble. Pot stirrer, I believe.**

**skittletitz - Hey, everyone listened to the Beastie Boys...don't deny it. They fought for your right to party, so show them some respect. ^_^**

**HGRHfan35 - I have to agree. That is a good choice of songs for the man. Clever!**

**ImOrca - Merle needs loving I agree...but maybe he should try someone other than a nun...just because Grace no longer believes in her vows doesn't ring true for the others...maybe...**

**Tigerlily xoxo - Thanks for the review!**

**Lilone1776 - I figured out why they have the people from Woodbury with them now. Red Shirts. All of them. See? Now no main character has to die, but many, many Red Shirts for the walker fodder. (Spy is using the old noodle on this one)**

**Supfan - Milton had great potential. A rare male character who isn't all kick ass and awesome with a weapon...plus I liked that he kept records...the world of TWD needs record keepers and possible educators.**

**lizzyjae - Can't stand Carol? *gasp* Just kidding, I won't judge. ^_^**

**Axelrocks - I'm trying to get Merle some love...but he makes it impossible.**

**GG - Hmm...the other nuns...now there's an idea. ^_^ Also, I have high hopes for this Milton making it...because it's my fanfiction and I love him dammit!**

**Anyways, sorry for another Caryl-less chapter, but there's this thing called a plot that needs attending to and dammit I'm trying to finish this monster of a story!**

**Daryl's POV in the next chapter though, I swear.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Three: Masquer**

****Milton****

Above him the constellation Cassiopeia sparkled, beside her Ursa Minor and Perseus dazzled just as elegantly. It was a beautiful sight to behold, flares of light in the night sky, scattered like someone tossed a handful of glitter up and it stuck, sprayed across the sky. It was amazing to think that magnitude six and less objects could be so distracting to a casual observer, could be at the centre of so many myths and legends. Intergalactic balls of hydrogen and helium searing the inky black void of the eternal sky above.

How beautiful the science of the night sky could be.

How interesting that Milton stood for about three hours staring up at it on the back wall when he could have effectively been making his getaway.

Maybe it was his fear that kept him on the wall where it was safe.

Sure it was easy to talk a big game, to prepare for a valiant run for help, but when it came to the moment where he literally stood on the precipice, his cowardice came crashing back.

There was no shame in admitting he was scared of the infected masses that haunted the world beyond the walls, though he did think less of himself for his hesitation.

Hands in his pockets, gun holstered uncomfortably at his side, he studied the constellations.

Funny, he couldn't remember ever mapping them as extensively as he was. Sure he knew the constellations and where they were in the night sky, but he never took the time to just gaze at them.

How many people stared at them in the same way, facing a huge decision?

Men facing the decision to seek out treatment for Cancer, women facing the decision to have that abortion, people facing some of the most frightening and hard decisions they've ever faced, just gazing at the stars, feeling like an ant pushing a leaf around among a sea of grass.

He hadn't been lying when he said he knew Philip when he was at his best. The man was brave, sure, he had a charm to him that people responded to, a social grace Milton envied at times.

But this thing he had become. A creature willing to let his most precious and vulnerable starve, this thing wasn't at all like the warm, flesh and blood human he had once been.

At least Philip had people who looked up to him, who depended on him. Philip would be missed if anything were to ever happen to him, hell even Milton would miss him, but Milton? Who was he? He had no family, no followers, no one who even remotely paid much attention to him.

He'd only be missed because Philip needed someone to turn his silence and dismissive nature into kind words of reassurance.

Milton could easily admit his life wasn't worth much. He was a brain, that was it.

Maybe this was all one big set up. Maybe when he finally worked up the courage to descend from the wall, Martinez would be waiting just in the darkness of the bushes to nab him, to take him to the Governor.

Hell, maybe it was even Philip himself waiting in the darkness to pounce.

Or maybe it was just Milton's weak nature trying to find an excuse for why he was star gazing when he should be on the move.

Toeing the heavy pack at his feet, Milton inhaled deeply. Andrea was so strong. Strong enough to spring off the wall amid a hail storm of bullets, but Milton couldn't even sneak off in the night.

Maybe he deserved to suffer the fate of watching the children and elderly of Woodbury slowly starve and die, maybe his cowardice would be his own punishment in the end.

Spying a rogue infected stagger out of the woods gave Milton a little hope that there was no ambush waiting for him.

If someone had been at wait for him, the infected lady would not have made it out of the bushes.

Levelling his chin, he studied the one time woman as she ambled across the brighter patch of grass, heading for the wall where he was sure she smelled the living of Woodbury just beyond.

Keeping one eye on her, Milton dropped to one knee and rifled through his pack for the heavy chain he snatched off the back of one of the trucks. What was it Michonne had done with her infected pack pets? She lopped off both arms at the shoulder and the lower jaw, but the scent kept the infected away.

Travelling would be a lot easier for Milton if he had that kind of coverage.

Eyeing the woman as she bumped gracelessly along the wall looking for an in, Milton touched his knuckle to the side of his glasses. He just needed to get the woman down enough to render her harmless, then he could use the large combat knife he had stolen from Anderson's apartment earlier to hack away at her arms and jaw.

One harmless infected would be all he'd really need, though Michonne travelled with two, so maybe he'd find another at some point.

Yes, he decided as the infected woman bumped closer to his location, he could do this. He just had to use brain instead of brawn…a maybe a little firepower if things got bad, but that's why he needed the brain, to ensure things didn't get bad.

As the woman bumped right up under him, Milton swallowed hard, before heaving his pack off behind her, catching her attention away from the wall.

As the infected dropped to fumble at the pack looking for a snack, he inhaled deeply, adjusted his grip on the knife and jumped, landing hard on the woman's back, shoving her onto the ground.

Straddling her, Milton struggled to grip her flailing arms to prevent being scratched, but because she was face down, he had an easier time of keeping her under control.

Moving to rest one knee on her neck heavily, he wrapped the chain around her left arm, pining it against her thigh, strapping the arm down so that he could deal with her right arm first.

The slice that entered the rotting flesh of her shoulder sent a spray of blood across Milton that had the man gagging, but he tamped it down long enough to professionally slice at the tendons and muscle that connected the arm to the socket.

Holy hell, he was actually doing it!

Under him the woman bucked and flailed like a fish out of water, but with her left arm tangled in chain attached to her leg and a knee on her neck, she was basically harmless.

"Almost done," he whispered to her as though it would make a difference.

Thankful for the soft flesh, Milton was able to remove her right arm with a wet popping sound.

He dry heaved again at the arm he now held, but kept himself from vomiting by turning his head.

Tossing the arm, he decided to go for the lower jaw next before untangling her other limb. Gripping her by the hair, he lifted her face out of the dirt, sitting on her upper back and riding her like a bronco as she continued to buck and roll like the ocean.

Struggling to recall his basic anatomy class, he hesitated with the blade, moving it up and down on her face, before finding a spot he liked and cutting swiftly, splitting her mouth open wide.

Suddenly the woman shifted under him rolling and then bucking and he went flying off of her, landing at her side.

Her lower jaw was dangling half on and half off as she squirmed her way towards him and for a moment Milton froze, he had never been in the presence of such an uncontrolled thing and it terrified him.

At the last minute, as her mouth enclosed over his arm, her useless bottom jaw flapping, he scrambled away, narrowly avoiding having her teeth even brush his flesh.

Hopping back onto her easily, he grabbed her hair with a little more force, peeling some of her scalp away as he hacked and sliced off the rest of her lower jaw, her tongue going with it as she wouldn't keep it from lolling about at the blade.

Exhaling, he tossed the lower jaw away as well and moved on to the remaining arm, hacking and slicing it easily now that the woman was eighty percent helpless.

"You know you're doing me a world of good," he spoke to her. "Probably not what you want to hear right now as I cut your last arm off, but…I bet if you were still in your right frame of mind you'd probably be glad to be helping someone out. I mean people are cruel, but no one would ever wish to be a biting, snarling, walking pile of rotting flesh."

Feeling it safe to remove the chains as her arm was ready to just fall off, but trapped in her bindings, Milton began the process of removing them, securing them around her neck.

Carefully he stood up, chain in hand and helped her to her feet. She still made a move to get at him, but he easily pushed her off.

"At least you can't harm anyone anymore," he said. "You'd probably be grateful to know that if you were still you."

Eyeing the woman he noticed she was rotting, but not to the degree of decay those before the winter had suffered. This one must be this spring's model.

"Hm," he eyed his pack and the woman. "Well, normally I'd be a gentleman, but…" he stooped and grabbed the pack, placing it on the woman's back, clicking the buckle strap at her chest to keep it on her more securely.

Taking in his surroundings, he sniffed the night air, before tugging on her chain for her to follow him. It didn't take much effort to get the woman to follow, she was still trying hard to get at him and very interested in bumping against him helplessly.

"Be good," he ordered as they moved into the woods, "or I'll knock your top teeth out too."

Milton couldn't help smiling to himself. He actually saw a bit of merit in tossing a little testosterone around, it sort of invigorated him into putting one foot in front of the other.

He could have been a little proud of the way he actually succeeded in not only getting away, but finding security for himself at the same time.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

By the time dawn came around and chased away the stars, Milton had found the highway and was following it, keeping just out of sight in the woods that ran alongside it in case any of the scouting patrols Philip had wandering the area looking for the prison survivors rolled by.

His rotten lady friend had finally stopped trying to gnaw helplessly at him and was just staggering along behind him, milky eyes staring at nothing.

Milton was actually intrigued by her behaviour. Had she just given up? Did the infected have enough sense left to at least know when they've been made redundant?

Or was she acting like an animal and waiting until she thought it a good time to pounce, hoping to catch him unawares.

He wondered why no one ever thought to really study the habits of an infect being. He had tried on several occasions, but Philip wasn't interested in the habits of one who was already lost, but in curing them.

Like that was something that was even possible. The rate of decay at death was almost instantaneous. Even if a cure was around, it'd have to be administered immediately.

There had been no hope for Penny as Philip had sought, but the man refused to listen to reason.

Milton honestly couldn't believe he was actually there in the woods, on his own. It was hard to keep the incredulity out of his own thoughts as he never thought he'd actually do it.

A snapping twig sent him scurrying behind his infected lady friend, hand on the pistol at his hip.

Rushing out from the bushes a wood duck scolded him loudly, half flying, half waddling off.

The woman got excited, tugging after it, but Milton kept her under control, digging the heels of his shoes into the ground.

"No," he ordered like one would order a dog. "Dinner time is over for you."

From out of the leafy underbrush another infected thing came staggering, hobbling after the duck who was already well on her way to safety in the sky.

The thing stopped after a few yards and Milton hunkered behind his lady friend deeper. Standing like a drunk, eyeing them, the infected man began a slow trek towards their location.

Milton's hand gripped the pistol, but he didn't move, wanting to see how the other infected would react to him and his companion.

Moving to about a foot away, the other infected just stood there swaying slightly.

Unsure what to do, Milton cautiously peeked around his lady friend at the other infected.

It just stood there, close to the lady, but far enough away that it wasn't within grabbing distance of them.

Behind him something shuffled and Milton slowly, very slowly turned to find another infected just behind him, standing a foot away, swaying quietly.

_Oh my God_, he mouthed to himself. When he realized that his lady was attracting other infected to her like a beacon.

What kind of thing was this? He wondered, terrified that maybe his lady friend was going to stop being effective suddenly and he'd be done. Gone before he even had a chance to do anything.

After about twenty minutes of standing stark still among three infected beings, he decided it was time to man up and carefully, with his hand still on his pistol, he nudged his lady friend forward.

As she began moving, staggering ahead of him, he slogged behind her, head down, mimicking one of them the best he could.

The other two moved with them, trudging along quietly.

This must be how herds form, he theorized.

Biters were like any other creature, they sought out socialization of sorts, hence why they gathered around him and his pet, they thought he was also a biter and moved to be a part of the larger group.

Interesting.

Keeping close to his chained infected, he hoped to reach the prison before nightfall, if they kept wandering like this he was bound to collect more than just two unwanted followers and if he found anymore he'd be in bigger trouble than he seemed to be already.

Head down, he cautioned himself, think senseless, think animalistic and base.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Masquer** – To put on a mask.


	64. Rien

**Surplus Imagination - Still, probably better than hauling that crap around in the Georgian heat yourself, yeah?**

**HGRHfan35 - Maybe it's Milton who has the sex appeal to walkers...ever think of that? ^_^**

**spygrrl99 - I'm glad you appreciate Milton's use of the term 'lady friend'.**

**Peta2 - I agree. I think he'd be horribly pleased to sit about and read all the books Grace has in her office.**

**MollyMayhem84 - You've never seen the rednecks in my part of the woods then...plenty of Daryl Dixon's to go around...only they're probably meth-heads and obviously not as hot as Norman Reedus...I agree with you on the way people think a ZA would be cool. Like really? REALLY? Come on now! People dying, dead people wanting to chew on your ass, living day-to-day? Yeah, real party central happening during the ZA...**

**Lilone1776 - I do wish he had a chance to interact more with Herschel on the show before they...you know? I'm just...bitter I guess.**

**SilverWolf84 - Milton is a basic nerd, I think. I'm just filling in his missing character with science, bookish types who like to observe and interpret instead of just hacking and whacking. You know? Thanks for the review though! Muchly appreciated!**

**Ms Q - Cha I watched Buffy! Spike was a babe.**

**Tigerlily xoxo - Thanks for the review!**

**skittletitz - You are love. ^_^**

**peonies01 - Meh, don't apologize. People have lives, I - apparently - do not.**

**AFishNamedSushi - Thank heavens! I was worried more than anyone about nailing the Gov's character...he is so hard to pin...I'm glad he seemed legit to you. (Glad to see you're okay...I get worried when my usual reviewer's don't review...)**

**Axelrocks - I agree! Milton's knowledge and thirst for knowledge can really benefit the group. Plus I'm hoping to make him the Jane Goodall of walkers...so he might know a few other good ways to confuse them. **

**Brazen Hussy - Agreed. Hope you enjoy this chapter...because of you know who...**

**GG - You wanted Caryl, well there's some lovely stuff in this chapter, so enjoy!**

**Okay, I'll admit this chapter was pretty pointless...but it was just one of those chapters that...well I'm not even sorry. Go read it and then hate me for this chapter later.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Four: Rien**

****Daryl****

Stepping out of the storage shed, Daryl squinted at the light. He hadn't realized the sun had risen, it seemed like time stood still inside the little shack. At least it seemed that way whenever Carol was with him.

Heading off to catch up on the work he missed, feeling a little pissed off at himself for missing the daybreak, he unknowingly passed by Merle and the Cajun the latter of which was up in the peach tree adjusting the sight on his rifle.

"For the record, Merle," the Lieutenant said, hopping out of the tree to stand beside Daryl's brother. "They had sex."

Daryl turned in time to catch his brother curling his upper lip at the Cajun. "Why the hell would you tell me that?"

"Some people need it spelled out for them." Grinning widely at Daryl, the Lieutenant shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leaning heavily on his rifle. "Good morning, lazy daisy or as we never said on the bayou, but I'm making up right now_,_ heureux après sexe."

"Who you calling whore-o, dumb ass?" Sticking out his foot, Daryl kicked the rifle support away from the Cajun.

Recovering a little gracelessly, the Lieutenant frowned. "Could have shot my head off…"

"Unfortunately you didn't, what the hell are you two so gassed about?"

Merle grinned. "Ain't gassed, baby bro—"

"We found you something today when we were out hunting!" The Lieutenant exclaimed.

"Shut up, coonass, I was on it!" Merle growled slapping the Cajun upside the head.

"Merle, you get one."

"Or what? You'll horrify me with your dumb assed burnt food?"

"It's called blackened catfish and it's delicious."

Eyeing the two, Daryl sighed and started onwards.

"Hold up, baby bro," Merle shouted, catching up with him.

"Yeah, aren't you curious as to what we got you?" The Lieutenant asked, moving to his left side, opposite his brother.

Daryl tried to pick up his pace and lose them, but they kept pace with him. "A brother who isn't an idiot and a new Cajun who isn't a jackass?"

"No, dummy," Merle snarled.

The two of them sort of corralled Daryl in the direction they wanted him to go, heading for the area by the campfire where a swarm of women and nuns were hovering around something.

As they parted Daryl found himself looking at a lump of what looked like a pile of dryer lint.

The Lieutenant motioned proudly to the lump of trembling grey.

"You got me shag carpeting?" Daryl asked. "It'll look real groovy in the Mystery Machine."

"It's a dog," the Cajun pointed out. "We found him cowering under a porch at one of them abandoned farmyards."

Eyeing the lump, Daryl shook his head. "That ain't a dog, that's a giant matted rat," as he said this the beast got to its feet, shaking off the water the nuns were attempting on cleaning his mats and gack of his fur with. "It's a fucking horse." Daryl corrected.

Tsking, the Cajun moved forward to pat the thing's head, it flinched as though expecting to be harmed. "Poor _chien gris_, he had a hard winter…on the run all the time, being chased as food for uggies…scared and hungry and cold…he needs a home."

"Yeah, so you take him."

The Lieutenant scowled. "I already have a dog that sleeps on my neck, thank you. No, this one's yours."

"Looks kind of foreign."

"He's an Irish Wolfhound," Sister Mary Claire said. "My uncle had one."

"Yeah? And what does he eat? Small cars?"

Eyeing the dog warily, Daryl wasn't sure if he wanted to have to deal with another mouth to feed, especially one that big. Jesus it must shit Volkswagons!

"Aw, where'd the dog come from?" Carol chirped moving to join them, hands out to the mutt.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Merle and the Cajun who were both smirking a little smugly. He subtly shook his head at them both in warning.

A flicker of pure evil crossed Merle's face and he beamed at Carol and the dog.

"Why, sister, this poor wretch has been thrown on the mercy of our group and my brother here wants to turn him out into the cold like some throwaway life-form…"

Daryl mouthed 'fuck you' to his brother, which only seemed to amuse Merle more.

"But he's such a big fluffy guy!" Carol exclaimed scratching the dog's head and kneeling to get closer to it.

"Probably infected with fleas and the dog equivalent of herpes, I wouldn't touch it."

The nuns tittered at the mention of 'herpes', silenced by a stern look from Grace, who pushed to her feet.

"Daryl, honey," she began. "Charity begins at home."

"Charity ends with being a mid-morning snack for a big assed dog," he countered stubbornly, trying hard not to eye Carol who was absolutely smitten with the dog.

"Proverbs 12:10; whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel." She argued.

"Yeah, well does the bible say anything about making room in a tiny shed for a moose?"

"No, but it has a lot of passages about being a cold-hearted prick," Merle grunted.

Dropping to one knee at Carol's side, the Cajun beamed at Daryl. "Look at these sad brown eyes, _couyon_." Glancing at the dog, the Lieutenant quickly pushed back the fringe of fur that covered the beasts' eyes. "Look at them…he's alone and he needs love and companionship and someone who actually wants to take him in and love him and feed him. Plus Carol wants a companion to keep her company when you're gone on those supply runs we make…"

Daryl scowled at the Cajun rested his head against the dogs dramatically and gave him a puppy dog look. It wouldn't have worked if Carol hadn't done the same thing on the dog's other side, beaming up at him.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Daryl set his hand on his hip, toeing the ground. "Fine, I'll go build a goddamned stable for the thing," he growled, storming off.

If he thought his day started off poorly, it just did a fucking hyper jump into hell.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

Later that afternoon, as he spent some of his rage and frustration into fixing the broke assed fan belt on the old Chevy truck they had Rick approached him, hesitant, quiet as he was as of late.

"Hear you have a brand new baby boy," Rick greeted calmly. The teasing words were there, but his voice was flat.

Daryl dropped the rag he was using to wipe the grease off into the tool box he found under the seat of the truck and scowled. "Yeah, well…thing best keep its distance from me." Eyeing Rick and the way the man seemed distracted by the world around him, Daryl shifted on his feet. "You alright, man?"

"Fine. We'll head out early tomorrow, plant the missiles at the mall, tonight I want to work on the ignition mechanisms, the Lieutenant said he might know a thing or two about rigging explosives so we'll get him to walk us through it. Figure we'll need about twelve, give or take."

"Alright. You need anything from me right now?"

"No, just…keep at it."

Without any further words, Rick wandered off.

Eyeing Rick's retreating back for a moment, Daryl wondered if the man was losing his grip again. Things could get ugly if that happened, especially with the shit that was about to hit the fan.

Speaking of fans, Daryl eyed the truck, kicking it with his boot, before deciding to head to the shed to pick up his tiny pocket knife from his pack. If he could slice the new makeshift fan belt he had down the thing might work, but he needed something finer than the big assed knife he carried at his hip.

Rounding the corner of the dorms, he nearly toppled over the Lieutenant and Grace who were standing just there in the shade, the Cajun's hand out, Grace reaching for something held in the palm.

Taking a step back, Daryl made to give them space, but the Cajun took notice of him and quickly tucked his hand into his pocket whatever held within it going inside the pocket as well. Clearing his throat, the Lieutenant shifted on his feet, the hand that wasn't in his pocket wringing at the strap of his rifle.

"I…ah…car keys," he muttered, eyes downcast as he sped past Daryl on the right.

"Looking for mousetraps," Grace explained nervously. "Mouse problem in the…vestibule of the…well the whole…entirety of the church…it's actually St. Luke's…the name of it…excuse me," she hurried past his left.

Squinting after the two of them as they both headed in the most extreme opposite directions Daryl had ever seen, he wondered if perhaps the day was just beginning to get maybe a little better.

After all, he had to get back at the Cajun somehow for the damned horse-dog problem and riding his ass about this seemed like it might ease the pain of consenting to ownership of a mule.

Of course he probably would never rag on the Lieutenant, Fay seemed awfully embarrassed about something and Grace was flushed bright red as she left the scene of the crime as well.

Heading into the storage shed, he found Carol sitting quietly feeding Judith, that behemoth of a dog crowding them on the bed.

"Hell no," he said. "That thing sleeps on the floor."

Carol frowned at him. "He doesn't have anything to sleep on down there." She said. "Besides, we washed him."

"So? He can like it or lump it," he growled moving towards his pack. "Ain't running a dog shelter…"

Tsking, Carol returned to feeding Judith.

Finding his knife, Daryl pocketed it and glanced over at the bed, studying the dog and how it's huge body seemed to curl protectively around Carol and Judith as it laid behind them.

Well, if anything the dog might be good protection for them from human threats, at least.

Standing, he ran his eyes over the beast one last time, before slowly approaching the bed.

Reaching out he ran his fingertips over the fur of the dog's head, it lifted its massive skull and eyed him quietly, before a large, long tongue lolled out and it began to pant. Whether nervous or overheated in the late Georgian Spring air, Daryl wasn't sure, but he offered it the faintest of nods, before resting his hand beside it to lean down and press a kiss to Carol's temple, giving Judith one as well.

The dog whined and nudged at his hand with his muzzle, hoping to get a petting.

Daryl fought a smile as Carol laughed softly.

"You're not as mean as you like people to think, Mr. Dixon," she said.

"Yeah, well, best not let anyone else know. I have a reputation to keep." He gave her one last kiss and the dog a quick stroking, before straightening up.

"What should we name him?" Carol asked before he reached the door.

Daryl turned around and shrugged. "Clydesdale?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I, that thing is a fucking work horse."

Carol laughed. "Clydesdale?"

"Yeah."

Turning gentle eyes on the dog, Carol smiled. "Clyde…"

"I will never call him that."

She beamed. "Clyde the dog."

"Hell no, woman."

"I like it, seems old fashioned."

"Clydesdale is not old fashioned," he argued.

"Clyde is," she replied.

Sighing, Daryl opened the door behind him and stepped out, keeping his eyes on Carol and the damned dog on his bed.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

Heading back across the lawns later that day with his hands greasy from a hard day's work under a hot hood, Daryl prepared to wash his hands at the water pump before Carol gave him that look she had taken to giving him when he returned too grimy.

Approaching the well pump, he found his brother there doing his laundry in cold water, basically rinsing his shirts and socks. Merle was stubborn in that he hated people touching his things, preferred to do his own laundry, which meant he often just rinsed the things he was wearing that day.

It must have been something he picked up in the poke or maybe just some odd Merle thing he had going on.

Slowing his approach, Daryl spied that out of the group of five women who were weeding the garden, only one had her eyes on his shirtless brother and it wasn't any of the one's he would have ever expected.

She flushed bright pink when her eyes caught his and the nun turned back to her work quickly.

Smirking, Daryl sidled up to his brother and pumped some of the frigid well water onto his hands.

"Hey, Merle," he greeted.

"Baby bro, how's your adopted son?"

"Funny."

Washing the grease off his hands the best he could, Daryl motioned with his chin in the direction of the women in the garden. "You know you were putting on a show over here?"

Merle sneered in confusion at his brother. "What?"

"Sister Mary Agnes has eyes for you."

"What? The old fat one?" His brother demanded.

Daryl eyed the woman from where they stood at the pump. "I've seen bigger and she's about your age."

"Yeah, I'm old, so? Doesn't mean I want to fight my way through wrinkles and folds of fat just to poke a nun."

Narrowing his eyes at his brother, Daryl shook his head. "You really think a jackass loser like you should be so choosey about his woman?"

"Fuck you," Merle snarled.

Storming off, Daryl shouted. "Fuck you back!"

It pissed him off that his brother was such a dick sometimes. Daryl had never really understood why a person's appearance was what made them. Hell Merle looked like a washed out old drug addict and yet inside Daryl knew his brother was a very intelligent, highly observational man.

Recalling what Shane had said about him and how he probably scared Sophia with his own appearance drove Daryl into a deeper fit of unspent rage and anger.

He hadn't liked the idea of being someone who scared children then and he didn't like it now.

Daryl would never hurt a child, who was Shane to assume he was the monster in the night?

Stopping under the peach tree, Daryl rested his forehead against it and inhaled deeply, finding his inner zen.

It was such a small matter to get pissed off about, he needed to calm his ass down.

Straightening, he glanced behind him to seek out the nun who Merle deemed 'fat' and found his brother ambling towards the women in the garden, wet shirts slung over his shoulder.

Unlike Daryl, Merle often wore his own scars with pride, like a warrior who survived a gruesome battle and it always bewildered Daryl how the man could do it. They were such ugly things, bad memories etched in their flesh.

Still Merle approached the women, smiling that charming grin of his.

He said something to Sister Mary Agnes and held out his hand.

The woman smiled shyly and handed him the hoe she was using to cut down the weeds.

Daryl supposed he should have known Merle better to think the man was an absolute asshole. There were redeeming qualities to his brother that many overlooked because they were shadowed by the bad.

He saw them though. Every last redeeming quality Merle ever had. Perhaps that was why Daryl could never really hate his brother. Merle was many things, but deep down he had that seed of good that all men had.

Maybe Merle just needed the right gardener to nurture the seed.

And though he would never admit it out loud to anyone, Daryl knew that he would always love his big brother, he would always look up to him, to feel safe and protected by him.

Maybe he wouldn't mind looking after that big dog after all, not since it reminded him so much of Merle.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Rien** - Nothing

**Heureux après sexe** - Happy post-sex. (literal translation is 'happy after-sex')_  
_

**Chien gris** - Grey dog


	65. Goût

**JackAndHoney - Well, great minds think alike. Also, the only dog Daryl Dixon could ever have would be the biggest mother ever. It's just logical. And I never intended a Mary Agnes POV chapter, but now I am...I like outsider views on things.  
**

**Peta2 - I agree. Merle had so much potential as a character for development. So did Milton, but I may be biased in that I adore Dallas Roberts and Michael Rooker as actors.**

**skittletitz - Daryl needs a dog so badly. One that he can train to come lopping up like a horse when he whistles and just topple enemies...or one to sniff out walkers before they cause trouble...or just one to snuggle when he thinks no one is watching...or one to take up half the small cot so Carol has to sleep on Daryl's chest. ^_^**

**MollyMayhem84 - I love Great Danes, I've been doing an intership at a pet store for my business course and this lady brought this black one in and she was so beautiful and loveable and awesome and huge and we put the tiny little miniature pincher next to her and they were both so hilariously mismatched! Ah, dogs are so cool (still a hardcore cat person, but dogs are wicked awesome too).**

**Surplus Imagination - I'm glad you caught that. I like to think Carol isn't a nagging type woman, but Daryl just reads her and tries hard to make her happy, even if it's giving his hands a quick washing now and then.**

**Brazen Hussy - ...is next to Pogliness. (Am I so old I remember Pogs? Yes. Yes is the answer to the question no one asked).**

**AFishNamedSushi - I know what it's like. I've been interning and I'm just wiped by the end of the day. Hence the slow updates (slow for me, at least). I hope you find time to just cold chill soon though, my friend. ^_^**

**peonies01 - See that? You ask for an Lt./Grace chapter and you get one. I'm just that flexible with the reviewer requests (at least requests from reviewers who never give me grief). Thanks for the review! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**SilverWolf84 - Not enough dogs or four legged beasts around in the ZA are there? Needs more...**

**Lilone1776 - I agree. Daryl is a big softie, but he'll kick ass if and when he needs to. Love the man dearly. And yes, you also got heard and this chapter is for you. I hadn't planned on it, but you are so kind to me in your reviews, think of this as a treat for you. ^_^**

**HGRHfan35 - I was actually sad that the show didn't have at least one really touching moment between the Dixon bros. Like they tried, but it just didn't satisfy.**

**GG - Haha! Your dad sounds adorable! I frickin' laughed at that! I'm going to use it from now on...on a semi-related note, my dad (not as eloquent as yours) has a habit of saying 'I don't know the man, but apparently he's a real asshole' when referring to anyone he talks about who he doesn't know. I think one day it's going to backfire on him...ah, father's, they're cluelessly hilarious.**

**Axelrocks - I dig your new avatar, btw. Wanted to say it a while back and got distracted. My great-grandfather had an Irish Wolfhound cross and it liked to put it's front paws on the hood of cars and peer into the windows at the drivers when they pulled into his driveway. Apparently it was a big wuss, but a thing that big scared enough people that it proved to be a good guard dog.**

**This chapter is dedicated to peonies01 and Lilone1776, who requested a Lt./Grace chapter to explain the happenings in the previous one. I wasn't going to do it, but dammit I love my reviewers and I want them to be happy and healthy! Hey you two, I appreciate all your reviews.**

**Also, a reminder that my lovely cover art was done by the wonderful and intelligent (and I've heard sexy as a snake in a corset), skittletitz. Go to my profile and find your way to her art blog, because it's worth the trip!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Five: Goût**

****The Lieutenant****

"Fine, I'll go build a goddamned stable for the thing."

Beaming widely at the tail end of the youngest Dixon, Lieutenant Lafayette Vancoughnett the fourth quietly and calmly stroked the beast at his side. He had no doubt the man would spout fire and steam, but at the end of it all he knew that the so-called 'hard ass' would cave.

Dogs had that charm to them that no human with a heart or soul could resist.

Plus the big grey scaredy cat of a dog would have melted anyone's heart. The poor thing looked so wretched and had such a nice pair of big brown eyes.

Giving the dog one last good scratching behind his ears, the Lieutenant stood up and brushed his hands off.

"Was there ever a doubt?" He asked Grace.

The woman beamed. "I guess you and Merle can sell dirt to the worms."

"Damn right!"

Merle scowled and rubbed his scruff with his remaining hand. "Think about that one a bit, Fay. Take your time."

"Thank you for pointing out my eagerness to agree to everything, Merle," the Lieutenant said sheepishly, eyeing Grace to gauge her reaction to his moment of stupidity.

She smiled serenely at them.

"Let's give you a bath!" Carol gushed behind him. "Would you like that? A big soapy bath for a big fella like you?"

"Sure would," Merle replied. "As I recall, actually," he turned to Grace with a grin, "I was offered to be bathed by a couple of nuns when I first arrived…"

Grace smiled softly. "Mr. Dixon, I recall offering you a bath. We never made any promises on bathing you personally."

"Well, that was the impression I was given." Leaning in with a grin, Merle whispered to Grace. "When can I expect to collect on this offer?"

Quirking a brow, the Lieutenant watched the exchange with mixed feelings.

Chuckling at Merle, Grace shook her head. "I'd highly recommend a bath, Mr. Dixon, but you'll be completely alone."

"Unless you want to just jump in with the dog," the Lieutenant broke in. "We can even throw your right hand into the kitchen sink to give it a good scrub."

Tilting back, Merle's lips formed a tight 'O' of mimicking shock, before he laughed. "You seem a little snippy, Lieutenant, did I step on your toes?" Grinning, Merle tipped his imaginary hat at the Cajun and turned away from the crowd chuckling.

At his side Grace was quietly appraising the Lieutenant, stone faced and motionless.

Clearing his throat, the Lieutenant also turned tail and left the group of women behind.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

"Have you ever tasted a walrus?"

Looking up from where he was fixing one of the rain spouts on the side of the dorms, the Lieutenant eyed the little missy and her constant pooch companion with a mildly horrified look.

"I should hope not," he said.

Annie posed her finger to her chin in that overly dramatic and completely unnecessary way children often did. "I bet if you ever did, it'd taste salty…like the ocean!"

"I…suppose."

Plucking grass out of the ground and shredding it idly, Annie continued to perch just at his side as he screwed the new bracket he made out of a piece of small chain into the wall.

"If I ever saw a walrus, I'd taste it, just to be sure."

"I probably wouldn't recommend it," the Lieutenant replied, easing onto his side to get down low enough to screw the chain in properly.

"I'd taste anything, just to see what it tastes like. Because…things could be tastier than they look. Like how cooked meat doesn't really look good, but then it tastes really good. Like that." The little girl swallowed hard and smacked her lips. "But Mother Mena has this book in her office, it's a big book of walrus' and stuff and I just thought that they looked like they'd taste good and then Sister Mary Claire said that they come from the ocean and the ocean is salty and that's why I think they'd taste salty."

"Well," the Lieutenant grunted as he moved on to the other side of the makeshift bracket, "you're at least approaching this logically."

"Yeah and then Mother Mena was teaching me how to read better, because I only know the alphabet, but she said if you put the letters together it says things, like when I'm looking at the walrus' pictures and there's things that the book says about them underneath the pictures."

"Oh?"

"But I don't think I'm very smart, because I still don't know what the book says about walrus'. It's why I'm imagining what they'd taste like."

Propping himself up on his elbows, he eyed the little girl, before sitting up completely. "Hey, don't ever think you're not smart, boo. Don't even say it. You're smarter than any little girl I've ever known, you're so smart you even came up with your own theory. You know what a theory is?"

"Nuh-uh."

"A theory is something smart people come up with, it may not be proven, but it's usually pretty close."

"What theory did I come up with?" The little girl stumbled on the word 'theory'.

"You came up with the theory that because they're found in and around the ocean, that a walrus must taste salty and you know something, I think you're probably right about that."

Annie beamed and swayed. "Because I'm smart!"

"Hell yeah you are!"

The little girl gasped, then giggled. "You said a bad word!"

"But you won't tell Mother Mena, yeah? Nobody likes a fink."

"What's a fink?"

"It's…a wild, mean animal who tattles on other animals."

"Like a skunk?"

"Sure, alright."

"I won't tell. Mr. Merle said 'asshat' this morning and I didn't say anything to anyone about it."

"Well, you just told me, but…whatever."

"I have another theory," the little girl whispered, leaning in close to him.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, wanna hear it?"

"Sure."

Moving right up beside him, Annie cupped her hand and whispered in his ear. "I think you and Mother Mena are in love."

"You know theories aren't always right, yeah?"

"But they're usually pretty close." She argued, rocking back on her bottom to look at him.

The Lieutenant smirked, before grabbing the little girl, wrapping his arms around her in a lovingly rough embrace and play biting at her neck. "_Possede_!" He growled at her teasingly.

She giggled loud and boisterously, squirming in his lap, her dog barking at them.

Pulling her in close, the Lieutenant spied Grace approaching and snuggled the girl quickly, before releasing her. "Why don't you go and call Mr. Merle an 'asshat' see how he responds."

"Okay!" She chirped standing up and taking off for wherever the hell Merle was keeping himself.

"Tell him I sent you!" He called after her, pushing to his feet.

"Whatever are you doing to my dormitory, Lieutenant?" Grace demanded as she neared.

He eyed the work on the spout. "Well, it needed fixing and we're all basically just waiting around these days for our plans to be put in motion, giving Glenn some time to grieve before we head out."

"Hm, yes, of course." She smiled at him. "I was actually hoping to grab you, the wringer on the hand dryer is stuck and we need—"

"Yeah, I can take a look at, I'm not as handy as those Dixon boys, but we know how to use duct tape down on the bayou."

Grace smiled sweetly at him.

"Ah, actually speaking of rings, I've been meaning to tell you the ring fell off a while back and I," he patted himself down, "stuck it in my pocket somewhere…hold on…" Reaching into the pockets of his pants, he withdrew a wad of things.

"Goodness, Lafayette, do you ever clean your pockets out?"

"Yeah, but I usually just stick these things back in them once they're clean…" he didn't notice as he sifted through ketchup packets and old pieces of bandage wrappers that a particular wrapper had fallen out of his pocket onto the ground until Grace was stooping to retrieve it for him.

Between them she held up a condom in its wrapper and tilted her head.

"Oh, that's ah…" he began.

She pursed her lips and yanked it out of his reach as he moved to take it back.

"Tell me you haven't been parking in Monte Carlo's with girls again," she teased.

Shoving the items back into his pockets, the Lieutenant smiled. "Well, not yet. Give it time and we'll see."

"Why do they need to be 'ribbed for her pleasure'?" She went on, reading the packet far from his grasp. "What does that do?"

Studying the fire in the woman's eyes and the way she was sort of leaning in towards him, Lafayette was struck with a curious thought. Could he perhaps get away with a kiss? After all, what was the worst that could happen? She'd slap him? Maybe. She'd probably avoid him, more likely.

Still that look she had, almost wicked, but still innocent.

"Do you plan on using it anytime soon or do you just carry it around so you can pull it out and remember times past?" She teased.

"I might use it a lot sooner than you'd think," he replied with a smirk, holding his hand out, palm up, "as soon as I find a Monte Carlo…"

"Why wait for that?" She inquired, slipping the condom into his hand.

"As soon as I find a girl then," he said.

"Oh? You need another one?" She asked, resting the condom and her hand on his.

_What?_

"What?" He wrapped his fingers around her hand delicately, lightly for fear of spooking her.

Her pretty little Cupid's bow mouth curled up at one corner and she tilted her chin up just a little bit.

Suddenly very aware of the condom that separated his hand from hers, he realized that an opportunity had popped up and he was clear for the proverbial landing.

_What the hell_, he thought. Let her slap him if she wanted, he was going for it.

A movement out of the corner of his eye had him breaking his gaze with Grace's pretty little mouth and he found Daryl quietly trying to back away from them.

He couldn't honestly remember what he said, but he did recall tucking tail and motoring out of Dodge as fast as his long assed Cajun legs could carry him.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

That evening, with the makings of an explosives timing device spread out before him, he walked the rest of the group through how to make them.

Very simple actually, timing device, wiring, switch, but he was distracted by the scene he had left with Grace. It had been left hanging so openly and he hated unfinished business.

"So what makes you our demolitions expert?" Michonne asked after failing to wire her timing device properly.

"Uh, well, I don't have a degree or anything, but…they kept the grenades away from me in boot because I liked to test them."

"Really?" Sasha asked.

"No, that was a lie…half-lie. I…no they weren't that mad about it."

"And what if we get the wiring wrong?" Rick demanded.

Glancing past the group to where Grace broke away from the cluster of women doing laundry at the campfire, he muttered a quick, "just, ah, turn it away from your face when you set it…excuse me."

"We're going to get all kinds of blown up," Tyreese muttered as the Lieutenant broke away from them.

Coming up on Grace's left as she hung the laundry on the makeshift line the nun's had hanging in the small space between the rectory and the church, he placed a hand on her shoulder blade, leaning in close to whisper, "I don't."

She turned to him with a mildly curious look.

Worried that she may have forgotten about the moment they had earlier, concerned it meant more to him than her, his confidence slowed to a trickle and he shifted on his feet.

He breathed again when she smiled that secretive smile of hers and set her hand against his chest. "Oh, honey, I know that. I'm a handful enough as it is."

Beaming, the Lieutenant shuffled in closer to her again. "I don't mind a handful."

Patting him, Grace nodded. "I know you don't."

"So," he began, "just so I'm clear, because this has been a strange day so far—"

"We're in the beginnings of a relationship," she stated, turning calmly back to her laundry.

Pocketing his hands, he rocked back on the heels of his feet and watched as she continued to hang the clothes on the line. Pulling one hand out, he moved it towards her hesitantly, before stopping himself.

Strangest and yet simplest beginning to any relationship he ever had.

Well, no point hanging about in timid waters when there was a rapid river to ride.

Gripping her waist with both hands, he picked the dainty woman up and turned her around, pulling her against his body and sliding his mouth over hers.

She may have been a former nun, but she felt and tasted like a woman. And after that moment of initial shock passed she kissed him like a woman, arms winding around his neck, petite body pressing hard against his.

It had been so long since he had a woman in his arms, longer since it was a woman he adored so much. Lafayette would have loved to have claimed that he wasn't aroused by such an innocent thing as Grace, but he was only human.

She pulled away from him slowly, peeking over the arm that had wrapped around her midsection at the ground he had raised her off of.

"You can put me down now, honey." She said.

"Sorry," he eased her back onto her feet.

"Hn, you made me drop my laundry."

Nervously he stooped to pick the fallen pair of pants up, handing them to her with a small grin. "I think the grass was clean enough. No harm done."

She was gazing past him to where the group of demolition trainees were watching their every move, their timers forgotten.

He followed her gaze and cleared his throat sheepishly. "Sorry," he said to her.

Grace offered him a small smile, tilting her head in the direction of the women doing laundry at the campfire who were also watching them quietly.

"They…ah, I'm not usually so public about…you know?" He began.

She touched a hand to the base of her throat. "Well, kiss me again so they don't think it was a onetime thing and then get back to work."

The Lieutenant beamed at her.

"Nobody likes a proud peacock, Fayette."

"Fate," he corrected her.

"What?"

"The pet form of my name is Fate, calling me Fayette is kind of emasculating."

Grace smiled a tiny, puckish grin. "Just kiss me, Fayette, and get back to work."

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, resting his hand on her waist and dipping down to kiss her.

She wrapped a tiny hand around the front of his shirt, holding him against her mouth long enough to kiss him properly, before releasing him and smoothing the wrinkles out.

Oh God, the others were going to be merciless.

Pack of wolves that they were.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Goût** - Taste


	66. Rencontre Par Hasard

**Brazen Hussy - Good point. Merle may pick up a few tricks.**

**HGRGfan35 - Yes, yes, Lace has finally happened. I'm glad you enjoyed it. ^_^**

**peonies01 - Aw! I hope you had a wonderful weekend as well. Damn, all my reviewers are such kind hearted people. ^_^**

**AdmiralCherokeeRose - Haha! The ships you never intend to sail aboard are always the ones that make you most excited when they do finally catch the wind in their sails, huh?**

**skittletitz - Girl, you are just absolutely adored and loved by me. You know that right? ^_^**

**Lilone1776 - Aw, really, I don't know why other writer's aren't so grateful for their fans. I honestly wouldn't be anywhere without you kiddos reviewing, so thank you and million times over. All my reviewers are much loved by me. I'm glad the last chapter pleased you so much.  
**

**Ms Q - I think the question should be will Grace go to hell for allowing herself to be kissed by a six-four Cajun boy who may or may not dabble in Voodoo a wee bit.**

**carylfan - Coming from someone named 'carylfan' the fact that you love the OC pairing chapter is a huge compliment. Thank you very much and may good things come your way. ^_^**

**GG - I'm deeply devastated that you've lost so much faith in my silly fanfiction, but I guess it happens, so no hard feelings. Thanks for the kind support you've given me and this story. And thanks for the idea of the religious orgy, I'm seriously giving it some thought, could be interesting.**

**SilverWolf84 - Your enthusiasm made me smile. XD Have a great day, my friend! And thanks for the review!**

**MollyMayhem84 - Merle crapping a squirrel is perhaps the funniest thing I've read all week. You win. Love it!**

**AFishNamedSushi - I agree. Men like Daryl and the Lt. need those strong, confident women to let them know the score.**

**Supfan- Thank you! I agree. ^_^**

**Newsqueen123 - *gasps* Locking hips is perhaps the best thing I've heard since Merle crapping a squirrel...**

**PlanV - Ehehehehe. Thanks for the review! Sorry I made you break your promise about not getting another account.**

**Axelrocks - Yes, finally a kiss. Thanks for your review and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Ack, more of the same ol'. Moving plot along. Sorry if this chapter is dull, but it's one of those things that must happen. Thanks for all the love and support everyone gave me for my last chapter. I was really worried about going in that direction, but most of you have been so kind about backing my decision. Thanks.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Six: Rencontre Par Hasard**

****Milton****

As they approached the prison, the guard towers coming into sight over the tops of the trees, Milton began to slow his lady friend down, allowing the group of twenty-some biters they had collected along the way to continue on, leaving just him and his girl behind to cautiously approach the gate.

He knew Andrea's group was no longer there, if they were smart they would have left the state, but he hoped to find some proof of where they had gone.

Still he was hesitant in his approach to the prison. Any number of nasty things could have moved into the buildings since the liquidation of the previous group's inhabitants.

Finding the gate chained and locked was either a sign that Andrea's people had returned or that someone with proper motor skills had moved in and they weren't open for visitors.

Securing his lady friend to the fence, Milton gripped the chain link and carefully climbed the fence a ways in the hopes of peering further into the prison yard.

At first he saw no sign of life or even un-life – as it were.

All he saw was last summer's dead grass swaying in the gentle breeze.

Then he caught sight of a crudely fashioned wooden cross sticking up above the grass.

Taking a cautious look around for threats, Milton climbed a little higher up the fence. As he ascended higher he spied four more crosses, one of them planted at the head of a freshly dug grave.

The older crosses must have been the prison group's people, but the fresh one…?

The fresh grave had to be the grave of the new group's dead.

Or.

Or Andrea's group didn't go very far at all and had returned to bury their dead with the others.

He was hoping that was the case.

But where would they be?

Every major hiding place had been scoured by the Governor's men.

It had to be close if they were still using the prison as a burial ground.

Milton needed a map, something detailed, something local.

A gas station, he supposed, would have those.

Hopping gracelessly off the fence, his tan oxford getting caught in the links and sending him onto his ass on the ground, Milton jumped back up quickly and looked around, expecting someone to see him take a very unheroic spill.

Finding no one, he turned his eyes to the sky. By his rough estimate night would fall in two or three hours. The last turn-in to a country house he passed was about an hour back the way he came.

Turning from the prison, he gripped his lady friend's chain and moved her along with him, heading in the direction of the highway. It was riskier to travel along it, but he was hoping to find a home that was clear enough for him to settle for the night. He would have better luck coming across driveways on the main road.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

Fifteen minutes later he was on the highway, wandering back East, ears tuned for the sound of approaching vehicles and biter groans. He knew he'd be achy in the morning, his feet were already burning from the miles he covered so far and with many more to go he was beginning to regret his rash decision.

Eyeing the biter at his side, he wondered if they still had enough sense to feel pain. If she felt a burning in her feet from the endless march as well.

Without a brain scan or a decent way to test her reaction to stimulus he couldn't be sure. Just how much of her brain was still functioning?

Checking his surroundings for threats quickly, he reached over and poked her arm to see how she'd respond.

She made a gasping groaning sound, but didn't really respond to the touch on her arm, just to touch in general.

He would endeavor to study her more closely once they got settled for the night.

Paying too much attention to his lady friend, he didn't notice the small dip at his feet and stumbled forward, falling flat on his face onto the ground, his sternum hitting a ridge of grass that ran along the middle of what looked like a cattle trail.

Scrambling to grab hold of the chains that kept his biter close to him, he sat on the ground and took in the situation.

He tripped over the well hidden edge of the narrow driveway apparently. But it was so well hidden he didn't even notice it coming up before him.

Adjusting his glasses he peered down the trail as far as he could to where it rose up and disappeared beyond a hill.

"Well, this seems as close as we're going to get to the prison," he said to his lady friend. "Should we risk it? Looks abandoned, might be safer."

She swayed in her spot.

"You lost all personality when you lost your arms," he mused crawling to his feet and wiping the grime off his almond coloured Dockers he figured choosing light colours for his excursion into the real world was probably a bad idea, but he figured the darker pair he packed would suffice come nightfall.

"Come on," he tugged his girl behind him, "may as well take the high road. Please God," he muttered, "don't be a forestry preserve trail, we'll be walking all night."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

Nine hundred yards in and he was beginning to think he should turn back and start looking for another place to stay before dark fell, but just as the thought entered his mind a cross perched on the very top of what looked like a steeple came into sight.

His steps faltered and he slowed to a crawl, eyeing the sight on the road before him.

"Well," he said to his lady friend. "Should approach this delicately, huh? Think we should hit the forest, maybe scope the place out first."

She stood at his side quietly.

Milton sized her up. "Right, I'm the thinker of this team. Come on." He pulled her behind him, off the cattle trail and into the woods, heading in the same direction, just better hidden from view.

Weaving between trees, Milton continued to approach the church on the road ahead, hoping it was relatively empty. The sky was beginning to darken as the sun disappeared behind the trees in the west.

As he covered more ground, he realized it wasn't just a church he was approaching, through the trees and over a heavy duty looking old stone wall which stood about six feet tall, he spied a couple more buildings. If there was a wall, maybe there would be minimal biters to have to clear out.

Touching one hand to the pistol at his side and gripping his lady friend's chain tighter, he slipped through the woods, heading for the wall, hoping to creep up beside it quietly.

Walking around the wall until he came to the very back of the compound, Milton eyed the stones, before moving back to tie his lady friend up, he'd get her once he figured out his next move. He just wanted to scope the situation first.

Jumping up, he gripped the top of the wall and dangled there for a moment, before struggling to get up, his feet scrambling on the wall to get a grip enough to give him a boost.

After a minute of struggle he hopped back down, peering up to see what his other options were.

"Jesus!" He exclaimed at the sight of a rifle barrel pointed directly at him. Flailing he fell backwards onto his ass in the dirt and gaped up at the woman welding the gun.

"Lieutenant!" She screamed over her shoulder, rifle still levelled on him.

"Don't shoot!" Milton exclaimed holding his hands up. "Don't shoot, I'm not here to hurt you!"

If this kept up he may need that pair of darker pants before the day ended, the woman stood firm and tall on the wall, gun levelled evenly at him.

After a few seconds a man appeared on the wall beside the woman, rifle on his back.

Milton studied him, he was wearing nearly complete military gear from his boots to his flak jacket and the rifle he was aiming at him looked like a much higher powered, more unique rifle than any of the ones he had seen to date.

"Look, I'm not looking to hurt anyone," Milton explained, still sitting on his ass, hands up. He was pretty much frozen with fear at being in the crosshairs of two rifles.

Then another man joined them on the wall, this one holding a crossbow aimed at Milton.

This one was familiar to him.

Milton blinked at this man, he really needed to word his next opener carefully. "Is Andrea here with you?" He asked the man with the crossbow.

And then Merle Dixon was on the wall beside the other three, smiling down at him with that smarmy grin of his. "Well, Milton Mamet, as I live and breathe." He greeted casually.

"I'm alone," he explained to Merle. "Please, tell them to put their weapons down. I'm very scared right now."

"So you should be," Merle taunted. "You telling me the truth, Milt? You alone?"

"Yes. I'm looking for Andrea." He said. "Very odd happenstance finding you here, I was expecting an empty place to rest for the night."

Hopping off the wall, Merle approached him, keeping clear of the line of shot. "Why are you looking for Andrea?"

"I'll explain everything, just tell them to put the guns away, please? As shocking as it may seem, guns pointed at my face make me a little scared."

"Merle," the military man said with a curious Southern accent, "your call. You wanna vouch for him or not."

Milton would place the accent as Cajun, possibly from the parish of Evangeline…maybe Acadia. Whichever parish it was he originated from it was one of the thicker Cajun speaking parishes. Wouldn't be Northern Louisiana at all, he'd say somewhere in the middle to lower areas of Louisiana, decidedly not New Orleans as people tended to have a softer, less pronounced accent in the major city centres as a blend of foreigners weakened the Acadian French accent.

"Governor didn't send you in to scope the situation, Milt?" Merle demanded. "Because we'll blow your ass to kingdom come if we even think you're here with ill intent."

Gazing down the barrels of the rifles aimed at him, studying the nasty looking (and quite possibly hair triggered) crossbow, Milton swallowed thickly. "I swear he doesn't know I'm here. I jumped the wall."

"Like a rat abandoning a sinking ship, huh?" Merle grunted with a grin.

There was an ominous silence from everyone as Merle sized Milton up and Milton sized up the weapons pointed at his face.

"Alright, give me any weapons you got on you as a show of faith," Merle said finally.

Milton glanced away from the weapons. "What kind of guarantees can you make me as to my safety if I do that?"

"I can promise you'll keep that big old brain of yours intact if you comply," Merle said. "Do you trust me?"

"No."

Chuckling, Merle nodded. "Right answer, but now's not the time for it. Just drop your guns."

Milton cleared his throat. "You swear they won't kill me?"

"Mr. Mamet, is it?" The military man asked. "We don't kill unnecessarily. This is a haven, not a death house. Drop your guns and we'll lower ours. Good deal?"

Milton nodded imperceptibly. "Yeah, fine." Catching the military man's eyes, he moved his hand towards the .45 at his hip slowly, unsnapping the holster and drawing it out carefully, tossing it onto the ground away from him.

"Now the other one," Merle insisted.

"What?"

"Everyone carries a second piece these days, unload her."

"It's in my pack on my lady friend," Milton said.

Merle moved in and swiftly patted him down with his remaining hand.

Pulling a face at being pawed, Milton scowled as Merle slapped him hard on the back. "Alright, get up, Milt."

Slowly the weapons on the wall were lowered as Merle moved towards Milton's lady friend to go through his pack for his other weapon.

Carefully Milton stood up and lowered his hands, eyeing those on the wall, not half as concerned about Merle as them. Especially Merle's brother, the one the Governor pitted against Merle that night that things went south. The youngest Dixon seemed ready at a moment's notice to raise his crossbow back up and fire and Milton still wasn't really reassured of his safety.

Merle moved to stand beside him, his other pistol held up for the others to see.

"He checks out," the gruff Dixon said.

"Alright, bring him to the gate, we'll figure things out from there."

"What about his biter?" Merle asked.

"Kill it," the youngest Dixon stated.

Milton moved in front of his lady friend. "No! I'm studying her, we've already established a rapport."

"She's a menace."

"She's harmless, I assure you. Let me leave her tied up out here, please?" Milton pleaded. "I've already been postulating some theories on infected behaviour. She could prove invaluable to my research."

Everyone on the wall looked amongst themselves, before the Cajun military man spoke up. "Alright, but she gets loose a causes us problems, that's on you, yeah?"

"Yes. I will accept full responsibility for her. Thank you."

"Shut up and get your ass inside," the younger Dixon growled.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Rencontre par hasard** – Chance meeting


	67. Ange

**I'm too lazy to reply to reviews. You must all know I love you to bits by now. So...yeah...let me be lazy this one time.**

**I swear plot coming in the next chapter. I just...I really wanted some girl time, so...meh, it's my damned fanfiction I will get girl time when I want.**

**...I may have lost my mind a little...**

**Special shout out to my girl skittletitz (you delicious little tart of naughtiness) who created the lovely cover art for this piece and who I'd totally marry if we weren't both so jaded and hateful towards the institution. Check out my profile page for the link to her art blog, because it's a realm of enchantment and fairies.**

**I'm craving tarts now...**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Seven: Ange**

****Carol****

For the longest time Grace didn't say much to anyone, she just quietly went about her work, gathering the now dry laundry from the line, folding the clothes in tranquil silence, while all around her the women of the group gave her quiet, fleeting looks of curiosity.

When she finished her chores, she stood up, arms full of folded, clean laundry and smiled at Carol sweetly.

"Carol, honey, we should move inside and get some kind of supper started," she said.

Glancing around her to the other women who were still working on their own chores, Carol nodded at Grace and pushed to her feet, following the woman into the dorms, Clyde at her heels.

The big baby of a dog had decided that since he was staying with Carol, since Carol was the one who snuggled and gave him tummy scratches that she was the one he wanted to stick with. It suited her. Clyde was going to be under her charge anyways.

Along the way to the kitchen, Grace paused here and there, popping into rooms to distribute clothing to their owners, placing articles on the foot of the beds in the empty rooms.

Carol watched her work quietly, at ease with just watching the woman.

It had been one hell of a kiss, to be sure.

Hell, when you get lifted off the ground during a kiss it's generally a good sign.

Grace still acted as though nothing happened, moving into the kitchen, pulling the root cellar door open to descend below the dorms to fetch something canned for dinner to go with the rabbit and possum Daryl and Merle had caught.

Telling Clyde to sit and stay (which she was pleased to find worked), she followed, carefully picking her way down the steep ladder-like steps into the root cellar and down rows of empty shelves, past the wine racks, towards the far end where the last of their canned goods lined one shelf.

Pausing before the canned goods, Grace touched a hand to the base of her throat.

"Aren't you going to ask?" She said finally.

"It's none of my business," Carol replied.

Turning to her with a slightly offended look, Grace reached out and picked up a jar of carrots. "Carol, I like to think you're my best girlfriend around here. I'd hope you'd know enough to be nosey with me."

Carol smiled shyly. "Was it good?"

Grace beamed at the jars, the smile was genuine, though a little faded, like a blossom wilted by the sun, still beautiful, but somehow sad. "It was very good."

"But?"

Putting the jar down, Grace picked up a jar of vegetable stew. "But I can't help thinking God will strike me dead for my choices as of late." She sighed. "I prayed for days, Carol. Uncertainty is a horrible feeling, especially when it comes to faith, but…I still pray. God is so busy with the problems of others, now more than anything and it's selfish of me to ask much of him after…after what I did, but," she broke off suddenly.

Carol waited for her patiently as Grace seemed to gather her words.

"Maybe there'll be a punishment for me soon, for my wicked decisions, but I'll bear any punishment God has for my sins."

"I wasn't aware God punished people for loving others," Carol said.

Grace smiled and calmly dusted off the tops of the jars with her hand, brushing the dust off her hands with even strokes against each other. "God is merciful, but there must be punishment for those who abandon their vows to him. It isn't like breaking a promise to meet up at the movies or not being able to make it to a child's play. Breaking a solemn oath to God is blasphemous and vile."

"If you ask me," Carol said. "I think God's been doling out enough punishment lately. You said it yourself, he's too busy with what's going on to notice a woman falling in love with a man during the end of the world. And if you're going to hell for love, then I'll meet up with you there, because I stole a chocolate bar when I was eight."

For a moment Grace ran her hands over the tops of the jars, still dusting them off, before she smiled and then laughed.

Carol laughed with her, taking down three jars to carry upstairs, nudging Grace with her elbow companionably. "I wouldn't worry too much about God's punishment, because half the time I think it was man who made up the idea that God was vengeful to explain the bad things that happen to them. Besides," she added wickedly, "if the man can kiss, think of what else he can do."

"Carol!" Grace exclaimed.

Laughing, Carol led the way back up the steps. "I thought we were girlfriends, this is how they talk."

"I'm utterly shocked at you."

"No you're not."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

They stood outside the dorms, hands full of plates with the evening meal on, watching as Daryl and Merle escorted a bespectacled man across the lawns.

"Who is that?" Grace asked.

Carol eyed the man, he looked relatively harmless in his tan suit with the plaid button up shirt underneath. In fact he had a sort of accountant vibe to him that made her breathe a little easier. "I don't know."

"Let's hope there's only one."

"He can't be too much of a threat if they're allowing him inside," Carol assured Grace.

_He can't be much of a threat if they let him live_, she thought to herself.

"Here, I'm going to take these plates to those on the wall first," she said. "Why don't you go and see if you can track down Glenn, he's been hanging around the church lately."

"Poor boy," Grace whispered. "I wish I could bear his pain for him."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

After running around the convent handing out meals, Carol paused by the infirmary where Daryl and Merle had taken the new guy, a plate of leftovers in her hand for him.

She had wanted to feed their people before seeing what they could spare for the new guy.

Carefully she poked her head in.

The new guy was sitting on a cot in the infirmary chatting quietly with Andrea, Daryl and Merle keeping watch over him not too far away.

Moving inside quietly, she stood beside Daryl for a moment.

"Who is he?" She asked.

"Milton Mamet, Governor's little pet," Merle said from the other side of Daryl.

"He's from Woodbury?" Carol asked. The last they saw of the men from Woodbury they were shooting at them, clearing the prison out by force like they were insects that needed exterminating.

"Rick and the Lieutenant are doing a perimeter check for others," Daryl assured her, leaning in he whispered. "You stay away from him for a while, okay?"

She nodded, handing him the plate. "I brought him some food if he's hungry."

Merle snatched the plate from his brother's hand. "Milt eats like a bird, I'll take that."

"Merle," she scolded.

The older Dixon was already downing the vegetable stew and grilled possum cheerfully, plate resting on a nearby hospital tray.

"Need my strength," Merle replied through a mouthful of food. "Gotta protect the women and children from threats."

"I'm not hungry, anyways," Milton spoke up from the cot, looking back at Carol with an open, earnest face. "Thank you though."

Carol offered him a kind smile.

"Don't talk to her," Daryl snarled. "You just mind your own business over there." Taking hold of Carol gently, he led her out of the infirmary.

She allowed him to do it, meeting up with Clyde outside.

Pausing to stroke the dog's head, Daryl frowned. "You keep your weapon on you while he's here. I don't trust him."

"Okay," she said.

"Keep the dog with you too."

"Okay."

They stood in the early nighttime air for a long time in silence, Carol eyeing the stars overhead and the bobbing lanterns on the wall as people walked it.

"You okay?" Daryl asked after a bit.

"Yeah."

"Sure?"

After a second she shrugged. "Grace thinks she's going to hell for kissing the Lieutenant."

"Yeah, well, she ain't."

"I'm just…I don't how to make her feel better about her decision. I'm scared she might take it back. It'd hurt him worse than any knife could if she did that."

"Yeah, well, it's not our problem."

"Grace is my friend," she said, "the Lieutenant too. Of course it's my problem."

Squinting at the stars, Daryl sighed. "It'll all be okay," he said. "Don't worry."

Thing about Daryl Dixon was when he said 'it'll be okay' he usually meant it. He was so good at that.

Carol smiled. "Okay."

Leaning down he pressed a kiss to her temple, hand sliding over her waist. "Remember what I said," he whispered.

She nodded.

"I want to get on the wall, keep watch tonight make sure Milton Mamet was alone." He pulled away from her with a nod. "Don't stay out in the shed tonight alone, stay in the dorms, okay?"

She nodded again. "Yeah."

"That's my girl."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

"You keep the rifle by the bedside tonight, yeah?"

Carol was standing outside Grace's dorm room later with Judith's cradle box in her hands and her dog at her side, hoping to bunk with her as the others filled the dorms at Rick's insistence that they stay together under one roof, when she overheard the Lieutenant speaking with Grace in a hushed tone.

"Lafayette, I understand the man could be dangerous, you don't need to lecture me," Grace argued. "I've got my knife, I've got my rifle, the rounds are in the chamber, I'm ready for anything."

"Do you have Annie's water, she gets dry at night," the Cajun replied sarcastically.

"Get your rear out of here and on that wall," Grace returned. "I have no idea what I did to be burdened with such a smart mouthed Cajun boy."

The Lieutenant chuckled. "Well, some women are just lucky."

"How unfortunate for me then," Grace shot back.

Tsking, the Cajun could be heard chuckling. "Wicked girl," he scolded. "_Mais_, I'm heading for the wall."

There was a moment of silence where Carol was sure they were kissing and she felt bad for eavesdropping outside the door, but she forgot about feeling bad when the Lieutenant emerged from the room, smiling broadly at her.

"Carol, you keep on your guard tonight, _ange_," he said on his way past her.

"I'll watch over your girls for you."

The Lieutenant stopped short and turned back to face her. "You just worry about keeping yourself safe," he said. "My girls can handle themselves, Daryl'll curl up and die if anything ever happened to you."

"I can handle myself too," Carol said.

The Lieutenant nodded. "Good. One less thing for me to worry about. I like troops who can care for themselves."

She laughed softly. "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

"_Bonne nuit, ange_."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

"When I was young my mother used to say to break the bad luck of constantly needing to attend funerals, you needed a wedding,"

It was probably about two or three in the morning and Carol and Grace were still wide awake, neither one wanting to sleep too deeply for fear of a night attack from Woodbury, so they curled up on either side of Annie on the narrow cot and chatted idly.

"Does that actually work?" Carol asked.

Grace shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. Never had occasion to test the theory, although I do recall my Aunt Gloria living about two years longer than was expected after my cousin Amelia got married."

"Coincidence or magic?" Carol teased.

The two women laughed softly so as not to wake Annie or Judith.

"He has a tattoo on his stomach," Grace began softly, "Lafayette, it's low enough that when I saw it, it was mostly hidden by his pants."

Carol beamed. "How do you know?"

"A few months back he stuck himself in the woods with a twig, I was cleaning the wound."

"I bet you were," Carol teased.

"I was," Grace insisted. "Don't know what the tattoo was supposed to be. It was all lines and stars…almost looked like just a pattern of sorts. He's also got a Marine Corps tattoo on his shoulder, but…I think that's a requirement."

Carol nuzzled deeper into the pillow, happy to have girl talk like a normal woman again. "So, what's he look like without a shirt on?"

"Carol!" Grace scolded.

"I'm just curious…"

Burying their laughter into the pillow, Carol and Grace waited for a good two minutes before they felt composed enough to lift them again.

"He doesn't look his age," Grace finally said.

"Hairy?"

"No, surprisingly enough, very little." She motioned to her stomach. "He has this, ah—"

"Treasure trail?"

Grace touched a hand to her mouth. "Is that what it's called? Oh good heavens, you secular women…"

After a moment in the darkness, Grace spoke again.

"Are you happy, Carol?"

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "We struggle to survive day to day, but…I've never been happier."

She felt Grace's hand slip into hers and squeeze and in the darkness Carol smiled.

"Are you happy?" She asked Grace.

"Right now? I'm unsure, but I think in a few more days I might be. Very happy."

"Especially if we can break the bad luck of funerals with a wedding," Carol teased.

Grace laughed. "Unless there's another couple around here who may have an understanding, I think it'll be a while before we have a wedding."

"Doesn't hurt to think big," Carol replied.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Ange** - Angel


	68. Lapin

**Chapter Sixty-Eight: Lapin**

****Milton****

After about three hours of sitting in the infirmary with Andrea, uncertain as to why they shoved him inside it with Merle as an armed guard, a tall, wavy haired man stepped inside like some kind of leader, followed by three others who were all carrying rifles, save for the youngest Dixon who had in his hands his crossbow.

"Get up," the wavy haired man commanded.

"Please don't kill me," Milton pleaded, putting his hands up.

"They're not going to kill you, Milton," Andrea said, struggling to get her crutches and get to her feet. "They just want to talk. Don't you, Rick?"

The man eyed Milton quietly. "We'll see what kind of story he has to tell us."

Stepping forward the youngest Dixon grabbed hold of Milton's shirt at the back and hoisted him almost off his feet, shoving him ahead of the group out into the night.

It was all so very ominous.

Outside in the clear, Milton was pushed to his hands and knees on the cold, dewy grass of the lawns and struggled to turn in time to face the barrel of a heavy duty hand gun, aimed directly at a point between his eyes.

He closed them and felt like crying.

This was it. All that effort and he failed the people of Woodbury.

See Milton? This is the reason why you need to be handfed, you suck at everything macho and manly. You are most definitely not a heroic type.

"Okay, get talking." Rick ordered gruffly.

Opening his eyes, he stared down the barrel of the pistol. With it aimed at him, Milton found words eluded him, his mouth moved, but nothing came out.

"You're scaring him, Rick!" Andrea shouted. "Put it away."

Rick cocked the hammer of the gun he held and Milton felt all blood drain from his head, he was either going to throw up or pass out.

"Get talking," Rick insisted softly.

Oh God, he couldn't remember the word for…what was…

His vision blurred and it faded to grey, then black.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

He was drowning!

Struggling to swim, he sat upright, finding himself in the middle of a group of people, Andrea at his head, splinted leg out straight at her side, hands gripping his face.

"Are you okay?" She asked him.

"I was trying to do the calculations," he whispered to her. "On how likely it would have been to stumble across your group here."

"What?" She asked.

"Clearly the likeliness was too phenomenal to actually put into mental calculations," he went on.

Around him the others were still gathered, weapons at rest. He spied Michonne, Andrea's friend, eyeing him quietly, hands free of a weapon.

He knew she carried hers on her back anyways.

"Did I faint?" He asked, embarrassed to have such a reaction in front of so many people.

"Yeah, you did."

He flushed. "He had a gun to my head."

"I know."

"Did they laugh?"

"No."

Milton struggled to his feet slowly, aware he was being watched by several pairs of sharp eyes.

"I, uh…Philip wasn't always like this," he began nervously, addressing Rick, who was obviously the leader. "He was good man."

"We don't need to hear you singing his praises, we just want the reason why you're here," Rick growled.

"This is a narrative, do you mind?" Milton asked. "It explains everything, but you need patience." He cleared his throat lightly. "I'm in no way condoning murder, that may be what people have resorted to in these times, but I'm not a killer. I can't even squish an ant without analyzing the repercussions, not just to his little ant colony but to the ecosystem of which that ant was a part of." Suddenly curious as to what the repercussions of the biters on the ecosystem was, he patted himself down for his little notebook and quickly jotted a note to himself to look into that at a later date.

"What are you doing?" One of the gun wielders demanded. She was a black woman with skin perhaps a shade or three lighter than Michonne's, but she carried her gun like she meant it.

"I'm just writing a note to myself," he explained. "On the effects of—"

Finding his notebook snatched away from his hands by the youngest Dixon, Milton frowned as the man pawed through the book quickly, before handing it back. Daryl shook his head at Rick.

"Go on with your story," Rick stated firmly.

Eyeing the heavy pistol which hung at Rick's side, Milton adjusted his glasses. "Philip was a good man and somewhere inside him I know he's still that good man, but he's been through a lot."

"We all have, son," an older man grunted.

Milton eyed him and the stump that used to be his leg with a curious twitch to his brow. He'd have to ask the old man about it later.

"Yes, I am well aware of what the world is like these days." He tucked his notebook away and went on. "Philip's put so much into finding your group, tracking every last one of you down and annihilating you that he's neglected the fact that our people aren't capable of feeding themselves. We have bankers and Human Resources specialists, we don't have hunter-gatherers who can catch us our daily meals. With this neglect, a majority of Woodbury – the ones who need the nourishment the most – have come to find themselves facing starvation. By my estimates they have two-three weeks tops before they begin to feel the pinch, as it were. I'm not here to help you kill anyone, I need to make that perfectly clear, I'm here to ask for your help in feeding my people."

"Feed the people of Woodbury?" Rick asked.

"Yes."

"Same people who were screaming for Merle and I to tear each other apart?" Daryl demanded.

Milton swallowed thickly. "A barbaric sport Philip invented, I must admit, but not everyone at Woodbury approves of it, I can assure you. We have the old, the infirm, the youth, they are the ones I'm pleading for."

"So you've thrown yourself in with the infirm, Milt?" Merle teased.

"Merle, I can assure you, this is a very grave matter. We have children too young to do much but mess their diapers and the elderly waiting to die, don't they deserve the dignity of humanity?"

"The elderly wear diapers too, right?" Merle shot back.

Sighing lightly, Milton decided to ignore Merle for the moment. The man always liked to give him a hard time.

Everyone eyed Rick.

It seemed Milton's assumption that the man was in charge was correct.

But then Rick turned to the military man, who up until this point, remained passive and silent.

The two held a quiet conversation amongst themselves.

Milton suddenly had a thought. This place may have been inhabited when Rick and his people showed up, maybe the military man was perhaps in charge of this group. Though there seemed to be a flawless blending of the two.

Curious to say the least.

He wondered how many of the others were ex-military personnel.

A couple of the others wandered over to get in on the conversation and soon Milton was left with Andrea and one of the – as of yet to be – unnamed members of the group.

He glanced over at Andrea, who was thus far his best chance for pleading his case in the event they decided to kill him.

She was quietly sitting at his side, trying to hear the conversation.

"They're going to kill me," he muttered to her dejectedly. "This was my gravest mistake."

"They won't kill you, Milton," she said with a sigh.

"They'll kill me and I'll have accomplished nothing. Why did I even leave Woodbury? This compassion for people I've developed from a young age is going to be my end. I blame my mother for this. Freud would have a field day with that admission, but there you have it."

"You'll be fine, Milton. You need to just breathe, okay?" Andrea reassured him, gripping his hand with hers.

Milton offered her a force smile, but dragged his hand from her grip. "I'll be better once they stop pointing their guns at me."

"It happens."

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the theory of large numbers. That I came across your group, the second place I came upon, it's…the science is just impossible on figuring that one out."

"You got lucky."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, I'm afraid. There is no luck, no destiny, we are just running around the universe like chicken's with our head's cut off, bumping into misfortune through random happenstance. I'd much rather be back in Woodbury—"

"Watching people starve to death?" Andrea broke in. "That's not you, Milton. I'm glad you came and that you made it safely."

"Yes, well, don't get too attached to me," he replied. "What is this place anyways? A church? No…it's a monastery? A convent, maybe?"

"Convent."

"Ah, we're among nuns, hm? Well, I'll keep my opinions on the existence of God to a minimal. Did the nuns make it?"

"Some of them, yeah."

Milton glanced around at the women huddled by Rick, there weren't many, a handful less than the men, but he supposed a few of them might be nuns. Nuns with guns, interesting.

The group huddle broke up and Rick moved across the lawns to kneel before Milton.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen, you're going to give us everything you've got on the Governor's military tactics, how his men move, where they go, how they get there, in return we'll see what we can do to help your elderly and young. Deal?"

Milton licked his bottom lip. "I won't fire on anyone from Woodbury, including the Governor. You want a war, you're on your own, but yes I'll help you in whatever ways I can if it'll liberate the people of Woodbury."

"Milton pretty much didn't do anything back in Woodbury," Merle broke in. "He was more of the mascot."

"Thank you, Merle. As always your observations of my person are cruel and just a little uncalled for," Milton replied.

"Sorry, Milt, just thought they should know what they're buying into when they adopt you," the bigger man clapped his hand on Milton's shoulder hard and grinned. "Welcome to the convent, little man."

"Merle, you're in charge of watching him," the military man commanded with a sly grin.

"Why me?"

"Because you seem to be fond of him," the Cajun returned easily, clapping Merle on the shoulder in the same hard fashion Merle had clapped Milton's own shoulder.

"Fuck you, Cajun, I ain't got time to watch shit harden."

"Says the man who yesterday – as I recall – was sitting under a tree trying to tie his bootlaces."

Merle scowled deeply. "Yeah, I was under that tree because some dumb assed Cajun bet me he could climb to the top of it. I was waiting for him to fall on his ass."

The Cajun laughed. "Won that bet, didn't I? Just watch him, yeah?"

"Fine."

"He can have my cot in the shed." The military man said, turning to Milton with a studying look, before sticking his hand out. "Lieutenant Vancoughnett," he greeted. "Try not to cause us grief, yeah?"

Milton took the offered hand gingerly. "Milton Mamet."

"Nice to meet you formally, I wasn't joking around though, _lapin_, you try anything to harm these people and I'll shoot you in both knees and leave you for the uggies at the gate."

"I was going to say it's a pleasure," Milton trailed off uncomfortably. "But, uh…yeah…"

The Lieutenant nodded once to him and walked off.

Daryl paused by him, crossbow in hand. "I don't fuck around, you piss me off and I'll put a bolt in your brain, dipshit."

"Nice to meet you," Milton returned nervously taking a step back, closer to Merle. "I can already see the family resemblance."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

"You can sleep here," Merle ordered shoving Milton onto the cot nearest the door.

Milton took in the state of the shed with a slight sneer.

He wasn't really used to…well roughing it.

"Where do you…um…where are your facilities?"

Merle blinked at him. "There's an outhouse behind the church, tucked in the corner of the yard."

"Ugh, really? That's…okay, I brought some wet wipes, so…okay."

Beaming, Merle clapped Milton on the shoulder again. " Welcome to the frat house, Milt. Leave your pussy at the door."

* * *

****The Governor****

Before him was a legion of pennies set out on the table.

He had been organizing them all day, putting them in orderly rows.

Something about the way they had caught the sun just before it set was calming to him, he liked to think it was the warm tones of light that danced off the copper coins that put him at ease, but more honestly it was the order he liked best.

A knock at his door and Martinez entered, boots thumping over the wooden flooring of his home.

"Did you find him?" Philip asked.

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"He must have slipped off during the night."

Removing another coin from the glass jar he had gathered them in, Philip set it on the table head's down with a hard 'tick', sliding it into place among the other coins. "Because he was put on the wall?"

"We were shorthanded," Martinez stated.

"So you put Milton Mamet on the back wall?" Philip asked again, ensuring the coin was in the perfect spot before reaching for another.

"He was looking to help out in whatever way he could."

"And who gave that order again?"

"I did."

"You made a mistake," he pointed out.

"It won't happen again."

Looking up from the coins, the Governor flashed a kind grin to the man behind him. "I'm not mad at you, Martinez. I'm disappointed in Milton, abandoning us when we needed him the most." He carefully screwed the lid of the penny jar back into place and picked it up. "Milton was our brain trust, without him we're going to struggle for a while, but we'll bounce back." Gripping Martinez' shoulder with his free hand, Philip beamed at him. "We always bounce back, don't we?"

"Yes, sir."

Bringing the jar of pennies up, Philip slammed it hard against Martinez' head, dropping the man's body to the ground and sending glass and pennies into the air around them.

Dropping on top of Martinez, the Governor gripped the lid of the jar where shards of glass remained attached and gouged at the man's throat, ripping and tearing his jugular with an animalistic ferocity.

As Martinez bled out in his unconscious state, Philip dragged his body over to the easy chair in the corner of his home and propped it up.

He could use the company.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Lapin** - Rabbit


	69. Frère

**Argh! I had lovely replies typed out to all of you, but as we all know the save button makes fools of us all. Ah well, you kids know I love each and every one of you.**

**Surplus Imagination - You know...I had nothing against Martinez. Not really, actually bummed he's dead. But you know people die in this world.  
**

**Axelrocks - Yeah, Martinez died as he lived...by a jar of pennies...wait...**

**Merle's Right Hand - You are a beautiful woman. *creepy face* You know I love ya, girl and you'll always be Skitz to me! (Even though your new screen name is kick ass and I love it).**

**spygrrl99 - The Adventures of Milton and Merle...should be it's own spin off story...**

**MollyMayhem84 - It actually was (even though I actually feel the same way at times too...like maybe that ant was going somewhere important, to visit his sick ant grandmother or to take care of an orphaned ant baby). See, Spy reads everything you guys say in your reviews, because I care. ^_^ (Thanks for the inspiration!)**

**peonies01 - Thank you and I do love your kind reviews!**

**HGRHfan35 - Milton is adorably awkward.**

**Lilone1776 - The thing about lunatics is they zig when they should zag...so maybe tangling with him will be tougher than they assume...or maybe a lot of people will die before the Gov dies...like the people we love...the allies, the convent group people...**

**Ms Q - Haha! I'm glad you enjoyed that. Often times I'll write something small that I'm quite proud of, but it goes unnoticed. I'm glad you caught that one. It made my day that you enjoyed and appreciated it. Thank you.**

**Brazen Hussy - Guess what, my dear? Merle POV chapter coming up after this chapter...because the darling man has been neglected for far too long. Giving you a friendly head's up.**

**GG - Yeah, Rick's group should just dick around some more, maybe the Gov will just do all the work for them? ^_^**

**SilverWolf84 - The man is an animal. A wild, rabid beast, to be sure. Thanks for the review!**

**Supfan - Yeah, the best thing about having a AU fic is that whoever dies that I disagree with, can live on in my world! Mwahaha! Ah, it's good to be a writer sometimes...And I agree, Milton did have a good heart, he was just weak and easily intimidated for the longest time. I'm glad he finally grew a pair.**

**TwilightEclps - You asked for more, you got more! Thanks for the review!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Surplus Imagination. Who asked for a 'dude talk' chapter. Unfortunately I couldn't work the tattoo talk in (just yet, wanna wait until Merle can get in on the talk), but I'm hoping it'll come eventually too.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Nine: Frère**

****Daryl****

Sitting on the wall the next morning, Daryl eyed the walker that egghead Milton had brought with him, contemplating just putting a bolt through her brain and putting it out of its misery, when Rick scaled the wall at his side and took a perch as well.

"What do you think?" He asked. "Plans might change now."

"Plans are still good," Daryl said. "We just need to adjust. Hell, Maggie died getting them damned missiles, we may as well use them."

"Milton was telling Andrea that the Governor's killing everyone who goes to Woodbury, we can't send the Lieutenant in now."

"We can still lure him there. I dunno, leave a trail of damned breadcrumbs, get him to that mall somehow. It may even be better for us, with the Lieutenant free, he's a good shot can give him a bird's eye view, cover us better."

Rick heaved a deep sigh. "Remember the days when we were just running from walkers?"

Daryl scoffed. "Yeah. I remember throwing a line of squirrels at you too," he added.

Beside him Rick laughed softly. "Yeah, you did." He clasped his hands together and eyed the walker tied in the forest. "We've left a long trail behind us, haven't we? People and places, like cairns marking where we've been."

Daryl eyed him. "Yeah, the thing about cairns is they're supposed to mark a safe passage or a place to hunt, not death and decay where we've been hunted. Burned out husks of barns and bodies buried in quarries."

"Yeah," Rick nodded. "Well, we're going to turn things around. Can't keep living on the run. I won't move these people again. We need to put down roots."

Daryl reached up and rubbed his finger against the side of his nose. "Carol wants to stay here."

"And you?"

"I'll stay where she's happiest."

Rick cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know if anyone wants to go back to the prison after this, but there's not much space here for all of us and I don't want to overstay our welcome."

"You know they want us here, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"We'll talk to the Lieutenant and Grace about it, I'm sure we can work something out. Hell, that lumberyard had a whole shitload of blocks, maybe we could even expand the walls out a bit, build a few more sheds for privacy."

The two men fell silent for a moment, eyeing the forest.

"I've been thinking about this," Rick said suddenly. "The Governor, this war, everything. We can't keep viewing the world like civilized men. We need to act on instinct, less regard for how things used to be and more like warriors, like tribal men."

"I'm already way ahead of you on that one, brother," Daryl grunted. "Dixon's were never civilized."

Rick laughed softly.

"I get you though. These people, this convent. They're ours and we die protecting them, because it's our community, our clan. We take care of each other, makes us stronger."

Reaching over, Rick gripped the back of Daryl's neck companionably.

Any other man who would touch Daryl like that would lose his best lover on a lonely night, but Rick was allowed this privilege, because that was as close to a hug as Daryl Dixon would ever give the man.

The two of them sat there for a while in silence, the morning seemingly warm and pleasant, promising a beautiful day.

And then Daryl spied the Lieutenant heading out for an early morning hunt and he slipped off the wall on the outside to join him.

"You coming?" He called back to Rick who still remained on the wall.

The man studied his surroundings before he too hopped off the wall to join them.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

"Hey, Fay, why don't you tell Rick about that woman?" Daryl suggested.

It was two hours later and they had already shot a few ducks, they were beating the bushes for a couple more, but mostly they were just enjoying the brief time off they had from walkers and the threat of Woodbury and the Governor.

"Which one? The one with the dog or the one with the hair?" The Lieutenant asked.

"The one with the dog didn't have hair?" Rick asked.

"No, she did, just not like the one with hair had hair."

"Like, she had long hair or what?"

"How do I put this in a way that won't offend the _Texians_…?" The Cajun pondered out loud. "You know those things…they, ah, clay pots with grassy _detritus_ growing out of them?"

"Chia pets?" Rick asked.

"Yeah."

"She had an afro?"

"Sure, just not on her head."

It took Rick a moment before he caught on.

"Oh."

"Nice girl, though. One of them hippie flower children types, hell of a mouth on her. Why I remember this one time, we were at the—"

"Not that woman, I meant the one with the funny smell."

"Yeah, no they were the same girl, she said it was patchouli, but…we all know what it really was. Smelled nothing like patchouli." The Lieutenant leapt over a log, while Daryl and Rick moved around it.

"Does Grace know about this patchouli smelling, hairy woman?" Rick asked, throwing a sly grin in Daryl's direction.

"Yeah, what was with that little display yesterday? You two hook up?" Daryl asked.

Quirking a brow, the Lieutenant glanced about, squinting in the sun as they passed into a meadow. "Shouldn't we be duck hunting?"

"Oh, you're ducking something," Rick replied.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was bitten by a llama?"

"Don't change the subject," Daryl growled.

"Bit me right on the knee, I have the scar to prove it."

"Why'd it bite you on the knee?" Rick asked.

Deciding he wasn't going to fall for the Cajun's razzle dazzle tricks, Daryl got back to the topic at hand. "If I were her I would have slapped your smug Cajun mouth."

"No, the llama bit me on the _knee_," the Lieutenant clarified with a grin. "Can't slap with hooves, _couyon_."

"You're a dumb ass," Daryl said.

They walked on for a moment in silence, before the Lieutenant spoke up again.

"Truth is I highly respect and admire Grace," he began, "and she has an ass shaped like a peach and I've made peace with that too."

Glancing at Rick to see his reaction, Daryl was pleased to find the ex-cop grinning. The man needed this, to just be a man again, ribbing other men, talking shop, being somewhat normal.

He supposed that was what they all needed when they could get it, normalcy.

"In fact you should all take a good look when we get back, it's a thing of beauty."

This time Rick laughed softly.

"Did you just give us permission to check out your woman, hoss?" Daryl asked.

"Well, looking's free," the Lieutenant said. "Just don't tell her I said that."

"You scared of her or what, Lieutenant?" Rick asked.

"Hell yeah I am, woman's got a history."

"He's heard things," Daryl pointed out. "Blood in your piss type things."

"What?" Rick asked.

"How's things with your woman, Daryl? Since you've pried into my affairs and all…" the Cajun changed the subject quickly.

"Fine."

"I like Carol, she's a beautiful woman."

"Yeah, well, looking at her ain't free, dumb ass." Daryl snarled.

"Oh I know! Looking at Carol comes with a price. That's why I do it surreptitiously."

Daryl mouthed 'surreptitiously' to Rick in confusion, the man shrugged.

"Of course I meant Carol's a beautiful woman in the way she acts and speaks, she's classy and graceful, elegant in the middle of a genuine circle in hell. The fifth circle, full of the wrathful and the sullen. Carol is the fallen angel who blesses us sinners with her beauty and her charm."

"And what's Grace?" Rick asked.

"Grace? She's that shimmering little point of light called 'Hope' that Pandora left inside that box. She's that reason a man has to carry on, to fight, to die, to live, to survive, to love. She's everything a man needs."

"You know," Rick began, "most of the guy friends I had before all this went down, they usually just got together and talked about tits and ass."

"We covered Grace's ass already," the Lieutenant said.

"Yeah, and Fay's gonna uncover it soon enough if he gets lucky," Daryl retorted.

"Not that one," Rick said. "He's going to need a ring to uncover it."

"Jesus," Daryl breathed.

The Lieutenant shrugged.

"That don't bother you at all?"

"What? Marriage?" The Cajun shrugged. "Why should it? People make such a big deal out of the institution and don't get me wrong I used to in my youth as well, but the truth is if you get along with the person, love them, have fun with them, enjoy their company and not just their body, then why not marry? Unless you're a philandering asshole, it shouldn't bother you to remain faithful to one person. Besides, Grace is a goddamned catch, the woman makes men piss blood, for Christsakes."

"I thought the idea skeeved you out?" Rick asked.

"Not when it's men other than me. Grace wants to make a man piss blood, it's kind of interesting to comprehend."

"You mean it turns you on to think about her kicking the crap out of a man's kidneys?" Daryl teased.

"Of course not…well...no. Not really."

"You one of them masochist weirdo's, can't get it off unless she's squeezing your nuts or something?" Daryl went on.

"Reasons why pre-marital sex should be mandatory," Rick said. "The Lieutenant's going to be very disappointed when he finds out Grace isn't into that kind of sex play."

The Cajun laughed. "What about you and your woman, _cabri_?" He demanded. "She have to step on your _bibette_ just to finish a round?"

"Carol wouldn't do that kind of thing," Daryl said. "She's a good woman."

"Lori used to have a bit of an exhibitionist tendency," Rick spoke up suddenly. "We used to have weekends out of the house, rent a hotel room…she liked to have sex in front of the open windows there."

"You dirty fucker," Daryl stated.

The men's laughter startled a couple of ducks out of the underbrush nearby and the Lieutenant and Daryl both paused long enough to shot two down, before going back to laughing.

"_Mais foutre_, I think we're lost," the Lieutenant remarked after they sobered long enough to collect the ducks.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****The Governor****

"Have they been found yet?" He asked.

The black man who he had decided would replace the missing Martinez shook his head. "Not yet, sir."

Smiling, the Governor clapped the man on the back. "Well, they can't have gone far. Trails are always there to follow."

"I suppose so, sir."

"I'm going to give you until the end of the week to find them, that's fair enough, right?"

The man looked mildly panicked. "I don't—"

"Of course, we've lost track of time since Milton disappeared, he was our time keeper, so I'll assume that the week ends in three days."

"Sir—"

"The wicked will be punished. I have faith in you. Remember now, you do what you need to the terrorists, but I want the black woman alive. The one with the sword." Philip beamed at him. "Say goodbye to your wife and children."

"What?"

"Before you go out to find the prison group survivors, you should say goodbye to your family."

The man swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Three days."

Giving the man's shoulder one final squeeze, Philip left him, heading across the street for his home once more. He had stopped the man (he wanted to say his name was Charlie) on the street as he saw him leaving his post at the gate, but was eager to get home. He had to feed Penny before it got too late. She couldn't eat so close to bedtime.

Stepping into his apartment home, he grabbed the food for Penny first thing and headed for her room, ignoring Martinez in his chair.

Opening the door, he knelt down to come face to face with his baby girl as she sat propped up in her bedroom.

Philip had pushed aside all his good jackets on their hangers in order to see his sweet girl, and she was framed by his clothes on either side of her.

Tucking a copper coin into his daughter's mouth he smiled as it slipped out and added to the growing pile in her lap. She'd eat when she got hungry enough, he supposed. Once they found the cure to her disease she'd bounce right back. It couldn't hurt that that Michonne woman had split his baby girl's tongue when she stabbed her in the back of the head. But Penny was a strong girl, she'd bounce right back, he had no doubt.

Idly scratching at the empty socket under his eyepatch, Philip stood up and closed the door to his daughter's bedroom, moving to pour himself a tumbler of whiskey, easing down at his table, eyeing Martinez.

Things would get better. He'd make everything right again.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Frère **- Brother

**Detritus** - Junk, Garbage

**Bibette** - Penis


	70. Histoire

**Merle's Right Hand - Um...did it seem like she was still a walker? No, she's dead. DEAD. Dead. Like not at all moving, stiff, dead, corpse-y dead. This is probably something which confused a lot of people...ah well. What's done is done. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - I'm glad. I do enjoy when people request certain things, I gives me an excuse to write them...**

**HGRHfan35 - I would imagine typical dude talk isn't all about tits and ass, they just like us to think that...**

**Brazen Hussy - Well, you've been such a patient dear, I hope this chapter makes your day. ^_^ (It made mine writing it).**

**MollyMayhem84 - I tried to find a balance in between graphic novel Gov and TV Gov...hope it balanced properly. I mean the dude is pretty effed in the head...so...and yes, it's Black Shane...is his name Shupert or Shubert? Or neither? (He shall remain nameless for now).  
**

**Supfan - Thank you! And I agree, no one is safe from the Gov's wrath now.**

**Lilone1776 - Yeah, things are going to get bloody and sad soon. I'm actually bummed about that.**

**AFishNamedSushi - Merle tattoo talk in the next chapter maybe...but Merle in this chapter, definitely.**

**GG - I imagine the Lt. read a lot in his downtime in the corps. And by his stack of well read National Geographic by his cot, I'd imagine he enjoys knowledge and reading, something which does give him an upper hand when it comes to the classics.**

**SilverWolf84 - Thank you. I enjoyed the man talk, I should write more...**

**So, finally a Merle chapter, with Milton in it as well, because I've decided Milton is going to be Merle's sidekick for a while...because they're fun to write together. So yeah...enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy: Histoire**

****Merle****

He slept like a little kid, limbs flung out in all directions, mouth agape to catch flies, face pressed into the pillow.

Standing over Milton, Merle grinned. He wasn't sure how he wanted to wake the brainy little nerd, he only knew he wanted it to be painful.

If there was one thing Merle enjoyed back at Woodbury it was tormenting Milton Mamet. The man was fun to torture, because if you pushed hard enough the little twerp would grow a borrowed pair and shoot off at the mouth.

The little prince of Woodbury was entertaining when riled, like a feisty little kitten.

Reaching out slowly Merle carefully pinched Milton's nose shut, hovering his palm over the man's mouth in preparation for his wake-up call. As Milton shot up in shock from having his nose closed, Merle shoved his palm down over his mouth, cutting off all air supply to the other man.

Struggling under Merle's grip, Milton flailed his arms about in a blind panic.

Releasing him after a moment, Merle beamed. "Morning, Miss Prissy."

Panting, Milton shot Merle a wicked sidelong look, rubbing at his face. "Even one handed you're a nuisance," he growled.

"Hungry?"

"A little."

"Too bad you missed breakfast then," Merle said. "Guess you should have gotten up earlier."

"I have canned food in my pack anyways," Milton replied, reaching for his bag that he had left at the side of his cot.

Merle swooped in and snatched the canvas bag out of Milton's hands, digging through it idly.

"No," he said simply. "No beans allowed in the frat house."

"I'm sorry, what do you call this shack?" Milton demanded, snatching his pack away from Merle's bladed stump.

"This here is the frat house, you wanna chase skirt you head over to the hen house, get it?"

"Clever," Milton replied, fumbling for his glasses out of the pack and putting them on. "Tell me, do you refer to the infirmary as the 'Den of Boo-boo's'?"

"We could start, smart ass."

"You know," Milton began, pulling on his Oxford's and lacing them. "You don't really need to monitor me"

"Of course I don't," Merle said. "You're too meek to be any real threat. But fuck it, I ain't got shit else to do."

"How fortunate for me."

The two men froze as someone knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" Merle finally barked.

"Merle, it's Carol are you decent in there?"

"Never, but you can come in anyways," he replied.

His brother's woman poked her head in and beamed at them, before moving inside completely, a plate of leftover breakfast in her hands.

"I thought you might be hungry, Mr. Mamet," she greeted.

Merle moved to snatch the plate away but was rebuffed by the woman smacking his hand quick as a viper.

"Damn woman," he snarled lightly.

"Merle, let the poor man eat something," she said.

"My baby bro know you're feeding him?"

Milton took the plate with a soft 'thanks' and eased onto his cot to eat it.

"Speaking of Daryl," Carol replied, folding her arms and resting her hip against the old lawn mower. "Has he been back yet? Sasha said that he headed out this morning with Rick and the Lieutenant to hunt."

"I ain't seen him but then again I'm not worried, the boy can handle himself."

"Well you may not be worried, but I am," she replied.

Merle eyed the woman his little brother had claimed as his own. She was a spitfire of a thing, but just a slip not even big enough to intimidate a mouse. He was kind of amazed at his brother's choice, but decided Daryl knew enough to know which kind of woman to avoid.

"Alright, if he's not back in a couple of hours I'll leave Wilty Milty with someone and head out to look for him, good enough?"

"Let's not make that a permanent nickname," Milton suggested.

Carol beamed at Merle, gripping his arm with her small hand. "Thank you, Merle. I'll go with you when you head out."

"What? Hell no, Daryl'll kick my ass." He replied.

"I couldn't send you out alone," she said. "It'll be okay, I'm not useless you know."

"Yeah well, anything happens to you, it's my ass on the line."

"It'll be fine," she said. "We'll give them two more hours."

After Carol left, Milton hooked his left leg over his right and steadied his plate on the knee. "Your sister-in-law seems like a nice woman."

"Shut up."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

They were outside, walking the lawns idly, when Milton stopped to watch the nuns in the garden, curiously eyeing them as they plucked the young, tender weeds out of the rows delicately.

"You're fairly self-sustaining, aren't you?" He asked the nearest nun.

Sister Mary Claire smiled. "We've always been this way. Simple labour breeds results which we've taken to using at our own dinner table. This is the first year we've planted more than usual, however, because we're unsure how many more mouths we may need to feed come winter." She explained.

Milton angled his head. "Interesting and the physical labour doesn't take it's toll?"

"You get used to it," she replied.

"Now what do you generally grow?"

"Whatever we can in this climate," she replied.

"Do you plant your rows east to west or north to south usually?"

"North to south."

Merle sneered at the conversation. "Really, that's what you want to talk about?" He demanded.

Milton shrugged. "I know next to nothing about gardening, Merle. Every opportunity to expand my knowledge is useful to my survival should I ever need to grow plants to sustain myself and others."

"Have you ever gotten laid, Milt?"

With wide eyes, Milton moved the conversation away from Sister Mary Claire, heading for the empty spot of grass between the garden and the sheds.

"Tact isn't something that comes easy to you, is it Merle?"

"Tact can kiss my ass, you ever been with a woman or what?"

"Sex has never been high on my list of priorities," Milton replied.

"So that's a 'no' then?"

"Let me ask you something, Merle? Do you think treating women like sexual objects is something which helps or hinders your status as a solitary male figure? Because if you ask me, thinking about sex constantly is a sure sign that you don't know how relationships in general work."

"How about I kick your ass, think that'll help or hinder my status as a solitary male figure?" Merle inquired.

"Depends on who sees you beating me up. If it's a woman who's generally unimpressed by machismo then I'd say it would hinder your progress, however if she's the sort who likes blood then you may have a chance."

"You talk too much for a little man, Milt," Merle growled, glancing around at the convent yard.

Spying Glenn sitting alone on the church steps, Merle paused for a moment.

The man had been taking his woman's death harder than even her father and sister seemed to have been, but there wasn't much anyone seemed able to do for him, he was wounded and snapping at everyone like a wild beast.

"You're an egghead, right?" Merle asked Milton.

The man squinted at him. "I prefer 'educated man'."

"Whatever. You know much about grief?"

"I know enough to know it knows no bounds," Milton replied. "But psychologically, I'm afraid it's beyond my expertise. Why?"

"So you can't do anything about it?"

"Not in three words, no. Why?"

"Just curious."

"Of course."

They stood there for a few minutes in silence, eyeing the convent around them.

"Sister Mary Agnes," Merle greeted as the buxom woman wandered past. "You look as pretty a flower today."

She paused near them with a humble bow of her head. "Mr. Dixon, did you know the devil rests on the tongue of flatterers?"

At his side Milton angled his head slowly, eyeing Merle with narrowed green eyes.

Merle beamed. "Well, now you've got me at a loss for words."

"I don't think that's possible, Mr. Dixon," she replied, before continuing on her way.

Smiling at the back of the woman until she reached the garden, Merle turned to Milton and snapped, "what?"

The bespectacled man at his side turned his gaze away and clasped his hands before him. "Nothing."

"Shut up."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

"Why'd you leave Woodbury?"

They had been sitting on the wall for an hour, Merle searching for signs of his baby brother and the men he was with, Milton eyeing his 'lady friend' tied beneath them to a tree.

Merle scowled. "The man wanted me to kill my own brother, you don't do that. Blood first, before anything the Governor could ever cook up. He lost any loyalty I may have had for him once he did that."

Milton adjusted his glasses and began dangling his feet like a kid. "Well, he's not himself."

"Keep making excuses for him, don't make me love the man anymore."

"I'm afraid you don't understand the pressures of leadership under such circumstances," Milton began. "Even the sanest man can crack."

"Yeah, well ol' Phil shot himself in the foot the instant he decided that Woodbury should be coddled. His people are weak because he made them that way. There was no real gun training, no survival training, nothing to teach them how to help themselves."

"In retrospect it's easy to place blame and sadly I agree with you, Merle. Woodbury should have been strengthened. These are trying times and civilization, the civilization Philip wanted for the people of Woodbury, is gone. But despite all of this, we are living in exciting times. The dawning of a new age, history being written as we speak, even this war between Woodbury and your brother's people, this is history."

"Is that why you record everything, Milt?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, I want history to be correct this time around. No cherry trees, no ignoring the Viking settlements, but truth. One must be objective in writing history; otherwise it's just a fairytale."

"I get you, Milton. Maybe it's good that someone is taking the time to record all this, get things right. Just make sure when you write about me you tell them how good I was with the women, okay?"

"I said this wasn't going to be a fairytale, Merle."

"Shut up." Using his stump arm carefully, Merle shoved Milton off the wall onto the ground below him, laughing as the nerd crumpled gracelessly.

Scrambling to his feet, Milton eyed him, brushing leaves off his clothes. "Very mature, Merle. I guess you won that argument."

"Sure did, now beat it, I ain't watching you anymore."

"Could you help me back up at least?"

"Hell no," Merle growled.

"Fine, I'll walk all the way to the gate with no weapon…" Milton griped.

"It ain't far, little prince."

The two men froze at the sounds of snaps and crashing coming from the forest behind Milton.

"Help me up, Merle." Milton whispered.

Stooping quickly, Merle offered the little brain his good hand up.

Grasping it, Milton struggled to find purchase for his feet as he tried to get up onto the wall, but he failed, falling back to the ground.

Releasing Milton's hand, Merle grabbed his pistol. "Stay where you are, Milt."

The two men eyed the woods as the snapping and crashing grew closer.

"He making a break for it?"

Merle whipped his pistol in the direction of the speaker, finding his baby brother and the others emerging from the woods calmly.

"Jesus, baby bro, could have shot you dead."

Daryl scoffed. "That'd make my day ten times better…" Gripping Milton's arm on his way by, Daryl shoved the man in front of him. "Get moving."

Following them on the wall, Merle beamed. "You should head off to find your woman, she was getting antsy."

"That was my fault," the Lieutenant said. "We moved south of the creek, I don't know that area all that well. Got a little turned around for a bit."

"Wasn't nothing," Daryl stated.

"He give you any grief, Merle?" Rick asked.

"Nah, just being his usual know-it-all-asshole self."

"Thank you, Merle. I thought we reconnected nicely as well," Milton replied.

"Why was he outside the wall, then?" Rick demanded.

"He fell off it while we were up here on the lookout for you."

"Believe me, outside the wall is the last place I want to be without a weapon." Milton said. "When will I get mine back, by the way?"

"Third of never, Dirty Harry," Daryl snarled shoving the man in through the gate as Father O'Rourke opened it for them. "Get inside."

"Better be careful how you treat that one, baby bro," Merle stated. "You might be written into history as a huge asshole."

Milton flashed a shy, dimpled grin at Merle as they shared their inside joke.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Histoire** - History


	71. Chacun

**HGRHfan35 - I believe firmly that Milton would be a sassy little shit. And Merle is not immune.**

**LaurenEmilyxx -I agree. He's adorable, but an easy target for Merle. I think he'll give as good as he gets though. Thanks for the review! ^_^  
**

**Silvercreekmama - Yeah, Merle needs someone to tame him a little. At least teach him a little tact (though not too much, because his tactless nature is what makes me love him). Thanks for the review! Kindly appreciated! ^_^  
**

**Brazen Hussy -I'm working on it, girl. I'm working on it! ^_^ Merle will get some loving, I promise.  
**

**Guest (oooh, very mysterious!) -I hope to have an entire chapter devoted to the Gov soon. And I agree, seeing things from his cock-eyed POV is a delight for me. Thanks for the review! I greatly appreciate it.  
**

**Mei Ju -They do get along great, don't they? Brain and brawn is always a good pairing. Thanks for the review!  
**

**Ms Q -I'm actually hoping to break up the chapters of my sequel to this story with chapters of excerpts from Milton's historical documentation.  
**

**teatotaller-ff -They make me happy too! Thanks for the review!  
**

**Peta2 -Haha! I'm glad you think that. He is kind of loveable in his Merlesque way.  
**

**Merle's Right Hand -I'm hoping for a few more good Milton and Merle scenes or chapters.  
**

**peonies01 -Thank you. Your review has actually touched me a little. I feel like I just...I just feel good when people say lovely things like that. Thank you very much, from the very bottom of my heart. You're a kind and wonderful person. ^_^  
**

**MollyMayhem84 -I agree. Daryl would knock Milton on his ass. He seems awfully protective of her. And thanks for the Shumpert head's up. I wouldn't have even guessed that one...  
**

**Lilone1776 -The Gov's got it out for the three M's, don't he? Michonne, Merle and Milton are going to be on the top of his shit list during the final showdown.  
**

**GG -I imagine Carol would not let anyone starve on her watch. She seems like a kind and sweet woman like that.  
**

**Surplus Imagination - What is it about Merle? Even when he's an ass we all kind of go 'that's Merle, isn't he awesome'. I love the man though.  
**

**Axelrocks -They are fantastic together, aren't they? I may need to write more Milton and Merle scenes...or even chapters. Or adventures!  
**

**itsi3 -Hey, glad you caught up! Thanks for this kind review and the others, you are truly a wonderful person for letting a fanfiction writer know how much you love and appreciate their work. You're a wonderful human being. ^_^  
**

**I'd like to give a special shout-out to MollyMayhem84 for giving me the name of Black Shane. It's actually Shumpert...now whether that's his first or last name, I won't know until the next season...so...unless he's in the graphic novels...which I doubt. Maybe...I don't know. I'm too lazy to check that out.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-One: Chacun**

****Sister Mary Agnes****

There was a time, she could recall, when the entire convent was vibrating with uncertainty.

The others had gone off to the nearby town and it was a week before the remaining sisters went to the Mother Superior to inquire about them.

She had done a remarkable job of appeasing their worries, of giving them reassurance and calm words of guidance.

For months they remained quiet and solitary inside the walls, tending their garden, attending their mass.

It wasn't until the Lieutenant hopped up onto their wall, that they realized how far the world had fallen. He was alone, his form made stark by the sun that shone against his back.

Sister Mary Agnes had thought him the most heroic man she had ever seen, just by the way he knelt there on their wall, eyeing them quietly, his strong back loaded down with gear and a pack and a bedroll on top of it all. But he was scruffy and gaunt, looked like he missed a few good, hearty meals and some nights of deep, peaceful sleep.

It was the Mother Superior who stood up from where she knelt at work first, using her hand to shield her eyes from the light, eyeing the soldier on their wall.

In the days that followed they were never given any specifics, only that the Lieutenant would be 'stationed' as he called it then, at the convent for their protection.

He was nice enough man, spoke in that funny way the Cajun people from the Louisiana bayou spoke, but it was his smile that she supposed put her at ease with his presence most of all. It wasn't predatory, it wasn't judgemental of their lifestyle, it was one of those smiles that seemed genuinely pleased to be in your presence. The kind of smile that touched his eyes, that lit them from the inside with absolute delight.

Then came Annie, bedraggled, hungry, frightened at their gate, peering through it with wide, horrified hazel eyes through hair that was matted and wild.

For days after she arrived she wouldn't sleep, moved about listlessly, restless, screamed at anything that displeased her, flew into uncontrollable rages at small things.

The Mother Superior had taken it upon herself to care for the poor child, fluttering around her like a mother hen, getting on her to do normal things, teaching her basic educational skills, how to read the alphabet, how to count up to one hundred and beyond.

For the first few weeks the girl avoided the Lieutenant, whether afraid of his height or his rifle, Mary Agnes was never certain, but once Annie got over that fear of the man she became his shadow, trailing behind him everywhere he went, counting their steps out loud to practice her numbers and he showed remarkable patience with her.

But it was the Mother Superior who developed a deeper relationship with Annie to begin with, holding her at night in her cot, humming to her when the skies rumbled with thunder.

But came the spring and the two men the Lieutenant had dragged back with him, things changed drastically. The first thing she was reminded of when she was put on infirmary duty beside Merle Dixon's bed was that he reminded her very much of her late husband, first and foremost in how he looked, but once he came too, she was reminded of the way Francis didn't think he was worth much, cursed and swore and basically put on a 'tough guy' act to deflect from his own perceived shortcomings.

She supposed that was why she found herself watching him more than any of the others.

Merle Dixon reminded her of a long lost love.

And Francis (may he rest forever in the Lord's arms) had eventually come around, she poked and prodded him enough that he was moved back into shape, his cursing mellowed, his mean streak tamed and he proved to be a wonderful man and an even greater husband.

The darkest nights she spent by his hospital bed had been her most wretched, watching him lose weight, watching his sun roughened, bronzed skin turn pale and papery, watching him retch until he vomited blood from tears in his esophagus, watching him wither away into a very vague, ghastly form of what he once was. And she prayed to God to end Francis' suffering, to deliver him from the pain and God listened.

The odd peace Francis' face had taken the instant he finally stopped struggling to breathe, the moment those awful sounds of his ended were the most blessed she could recall.

He was at peace. Truly at peace.

It didn't stop the hurt though. Grief was the blackest of all human experiences.

Being a devout woman, she took her vows not long after that, thankful to God for delivering her husband into the embrace of His kingdom and she never regretted her choice. He had provided for her. Her entire life God had provided for her.

Now his place of worship, the convent and it's walls, were a haven for her and the others from the monsters that haunted the woods outside. The vague shadows of the men and women they once were that stumbled about hungry for the flesh of the living.

She had never intended for Merle Dixon to ever catch her staring at him, but she knew he had. The past few days he had been staring back at her whenever she glanced about for him.

She wondered if perhaps she was mistaken in seeing Francis in him, for Merle was shorter, broader, his jaw was more square, his smile wider, maybe it had been a trick of the light.

Still, she was pleased that Mr. Dixon seemed content to just watch her from afar. She had seen him pursuing poor Sister Joan and she didn't think she wanted that kind of attention from him.

Which was why she felt a little guilty when she found him easing onto the log at her side as she sat before the campfire cleaning rifles, a grin on his face and hope in his eyes.

"Sister, you clean those rifles like they're poisonous snakes," he greeted.

She smiled warmly to her work, afraid to look him in the eyes. "I have to admit, Mr. Dixon, I'm not fond of weapons."

"These days you can't afford to be delicate with them." He replied.

Stopping her work, she finally looked up at him. "Are you a good man, Mr. Dixon?"

His smiled faded somewhat in confusion. "No."

"But you try to be?" She asked, turning back to her task.

"Some days. Some days it's easier to be the bad guy."

"Why?"

"Because don't I look like the bad guy?" He asked.

"No," she replied.

"Why not?"

"Because if we judged a person by how they look we'd never get anywhere in life. Your brother is a good man, yet he has what Grace would call a 'goat's scruff', Rick is a good man, but he carries a gun, the Lieutenant is a good man, but his profession was and is a profession of death." She looked over at him. "You're a good man, who's most likely been down some rough roads in his life."

"You don't know me, Sister." He replied. "I ain't good. Far from it."

"What we've done in our past is forgiven by how penitent we are now. If you're truly sorry for the wicked things you've done, God will forgive you, but it's you that needs to forgive yourself more than anyone else."

Merle was quiet at her side for a moment.

She knew he was a smarter man than he let on, and she knew he was thinking this over.

"Is that from the bible?" Mr. Mamet asked, leaning forward from the other side of Merle so that he could see her.

"Shut up," Merle snarled to the man.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

****Little Missy****

Resting her head against Mr. Daryl's dog, Annie doodled on the little chalkboard Mother Mena had given her. She was supposed to be practicing her spelling, printing out the words to the flash card pictures she had at her side, but instead she was drawing a rooster eating pizza on the moon, humming the tune the Lieutenant always sang to her at night.

One day she planned to learn to write so that she could leave a letter to the Lieutenant in his pack. She wanted to surprise him with a note that read 'I love you' so that when he opened his pack he would know she loved him and that she was learning to write. Mother Mena would be proud she learnt to write as well, but it was the Lieutenant she most wanted to impress. If she made him proud enough maybe he would want to keep her.

Frowning she wiped her doodle away and picked up her first card.

"Cat," she muttered to herself.

It should be easy, but something about the word seemed tricky. So she sounded it out a few times like Mother Mena said to do. "Cah…ca-ha…"

Spying Mr. Rick heading past her hiding spot under the peach tree, she chirped. "Mr. Rick?"

The tall, friendly man paused, kneeling to bring himself to eye level with Annie. There was something about his eyes that she liked, they were shining and pleasant.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Does cat start with a K or a C?"

"Am I supposed to be helping you?" He asked.

"No," she admitted softly.

Mr. Rick glanced around, before smiling at her. "C," he finally said.

Annie beamed at him and scratched C onto the chalkboard.

"Thank you," she cooed.

"You're welcome," he replied, before carrying on his way.

Eyeing the cat on the flashcard and the C on the board, she scowled.

"Cah…c-ha…"

She motioned Ms. Michonne over from where she was on the wall.

The pretty woman hopped down and headed towards her. Ms. Michonne was quiet, and at first she scared Annie, because she didn't smile much, but one time she brought Annie a chocolate bar back from a supply run and Annie couldn't be scared of someone who brought her chocolate.

"Ms. Michonne, does cat have an H in it?"

"No, honey."

"So it's just C-A-T, right?"

"That's it."

Annie printed a capital A and T beside the C on her board and giggled proudly. "Cat! C-A-T. Cat. Thank you."

"You're very welcome." The woman took up her watch on the wall again.

Admiring her printing, Annie stroked Mr. Daryl's dog, before scratching Boo behind the ears as she laid across Annie's legs. "Cat doesn't have an H," she reminded herself. "It starts with a C. Cat."

Finding Mother Mena heading her way from the gate, Annie waved.

"How's it going, honey?"

Holding up her chalkboard proudly, Annie pointed out the letters. "C-A-T. That spells cat."

"Very good! Now try spelling it on your own."

Busted, Annie groaned and tossed the chalkboard down. "Spelling is hard."

"Conjugating verbs is hard, child. Spelling takes practice." Mother Mena said, taking a seat on the grass beside her, her back against the tree trunk.

Picking at a scab on her knee, Annie frowned sullenly at the grass.

"Mother Mena?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think the Lieutenant likes me?"

"Of course he likes you, Annie Louise. What kind of silly question is that?"

"What if he didn't?" She asked. "Do you think he'd leave us too?"

"He's not going anywhere, honey. Why are you asking such things anyways?"

Annie shrugged, before crawling over to sit in Mother Mena's lap. "Do you like me?" She asked, wrapping her arms around the woman's neck.

"You know I love you, Annie." She replied, stroking Annie's hair out of her eyes.

Mother Mena's hugs were always soft and warm and she smelled like sweet peas and sunshine, a complete contrast from the Lieutenant's hard, cool hugs and his woods and rain smell.

"Mother Mena?"

"Yes?"

"Are you really my mommy now?"

There was a pause and Annie thought maybe Mother Mena hadn't heard her, so she repeated the question.

The woman smoothed Annie's hair back again. "Do you want me to be?"

Annie shrugged. "My other mommy isn't coming back, is she?"

"I don't think so, Annie."

Pressing deeper into Mother Mena's arms, Annie played with a button on the woman's blouse. "I think you should be my mommy then."

Mother Mena smiled down at her. "Okay, sweetie."

"Mother Mena? I mean, mommy?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Can you teach me how to write 'I love you', I wanna write it for the Lieutenant for him to keep in his pack."

The woman beamed at her. "Of course I can. But you still have to learn to spell other words too, okay?"

Annie nodded. "Yeah!"

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****Shumpert****

They had started back where they last saw the prison group.

It made sense to him to start at the beginning.

Something about being back at the prison bothered him though. He wasn't a killer, the Governor said the prison group were terrorists and true they needed to start watching out for their own in a world without law, but he didn't like it. Didn't like that people turned on people when there was a greater threat braying at the door.

Stooping near the freshly dug grave, Shumpert eyed his surroundings. It was clear the grave had been dug in the past week or so, the prison should have been empty, but here was a freshly dug grave and no gunshots to greet them.

He stood up, nodding to the others to look around.

Something didn't add up. No one to greet them meant the prison was empty still, but a freshly dug grave meant someone had been there.

They had to be nearby. There was a reason the grave was with the others.

He needed a detailed map of the area for a place large enough to house the prison group, some kind of compound or farm.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Chacun** – Each one.


	72. Sans Coeur

**Merle's Right Hand - Shumpert, man. He's bringing it to the wall, that's for sure.**

**Azzkick4Ammo - Good question. I don't see why Daryl and Carol wouldn't be made Parrain and Marraine, because the Lt. and Grace both seem to adore them. I think they would actually be the logical choice. Also, I appreciate that you've finally come out of your shell to give me a kind 'hey'. I'm glad to hear that the Lt. is believeable enough to pass the test. ^_^ Thanks for the review.**

**itsi3 - I do too! ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**Supfan - Some Caryl in this chapter to tide you over...but mostly it's plot and such. But with some Caryl, I'm sure you'll be happy (it's more than AMC ever gives us...bastards).**

**Brazen Hussy - Charity is on the way! Nun style! (I intended that to sound dirty, but now I'm just ashamed of myself for typing it...ah well). **

**MollyMayhem84 - I agree. Merle really deserved to be redeemed more than he was. It was kind of a cop out on the show. Poor Merle...**

**Lilone1776 - You did indeed see SEQUEL in the last chapters reply section. I've been giving a sequel serious thought...mapping out a plot and everything. ^_^**

**HGRHfan35 - Damn, sweet bread is delicious! (I just baked cupcakes and they were all fancy and stuff, I was proud of myself)...also, I apologize for sharing random baker stories like we're war buddies, but it's true. I baked! ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**AFishNamedSushi - Well, if you have the zombie flu thingy that's going around I'm going out to find my own personal Daryl Dixon to protect me during the ZA that's sure to follow. Thanks for ending civilization as we know it, Sushi. Thanks a bunch. (P.S. - In all seriousness I hope you feel better soon).**

**Ms Q - I dislike flat characters too. It's why I'm struggling so hard to figure Merle out. He was good on the show, but with no explanation for why he was the way he was (other than child abuse, but Daryl isn't quite like him so it's not just that) it's kind of leaving me with a big ol' hole to try and fill in his character.**

**SilverWolf84 - I love the Milton-Merle dynamic too!**

**GG - I once ate a chocolate Easter bunny I found in my closet...I don't know how long it had been there, but it was delicious. True story. (speaking of old chocolate) And no, I haven't forgotten about the turkey and neither has the Lt. It's always on his mind, playing there in the background, gobbling, taunting him with it's turkey waddle.**

**LL - Romance is a lovely thing to have in fiction, I find. I just hate sappy romance, realistic romance or eff off in my opinion. Glad to see you're okay, I worry when reviewers disappear on me! ^_^**

* * *

**Seventy-Two: Sans Coeur**

****Daryl****

"The back wall is usually scantily patrolled."

It was just after supper later that night, that they had gathered around the campfire, most of the group off to the side going over battle plans with Milton providing helpful information. Of course everyone was looking to Merle to confirm the information provided by the new man.

"The back wall is a lot higher than the front one," Merle said. "It's not a weak point at all for biters."

"Can we scale it?" Rick asked.

"Could. You'd need a ladder, but beyond that is scaffolding for the patrols to walk on."

"What about the mall idea? It could still work," Michonne suggested.

"I agree, I think it'd be safer leading them where we want them," Tyreese added.

"There's a poetic statement in striking them at home," the Lieutenant said, idly shifting on his feet. "But there's also more of them to fight back when you're the visiting team, yeah? Is there a third option we're not exploring?"

"Yeah, taking them all out," Daryl growled darkly.

"I won't allow that," Milton objected.

"Yeah, well you're not in any position to argue, tan suit."

"It's almond."

"We're not going with that third option," Rick stated. "We don't kill children or the infirm."

"Like we don't kill the living, Rick?" Andrea asked from where she sat on the back of a nearby truck. "I say we try peace talks, they could still work."

"You want to talk, you go ahead," Rick said. "Go talk until you're blue in the face. Now is the time for action. Talking ended when he shot at my people and chased us out of our home."

"Rick, you're being unreasonable," Andrea went on. "There has to be a better way to end this."

"You want to argue this, fine," Rick growled. "Let's take a quick vote. Anyone here going to lose sleep over killing the Governor? Let's see some hands."

There were a lot of folded arms and still people standing around.

"You don't even know him," Andrea argued. "He's a human being, he can be reasoned with."

"Isn't that the argument Dale tried on us?" Glenn asked. "As I recall it took you a good long time to make up your mind on that one."

"It's easier to stick up for a man if you're sleeping with him," Michonne added darkly.

Andrea glowered at her. "I'm just trying to be the voice of reason."

"If I may step in here for a moment?" The Lieutenant said calmly, "and play Devil's advocate for a moment. I realize that the man is flesh and blood and not some beast you hunt in the woods, but that being said, Andrea, the time for talking has passed. The man opened fire on your people first, he drew first blood, I think it can safely be assumed he doesn't want to talk."

"Yeah, well, with all due respect, Lieutenant, what the hell do you know about the situation? We're just staying with you, you're not really a part of this." She replied.

"Andrea, everyone is entitled to their opinion on the situation," Rick sighed, rubbing his face wearily.

"Except for me, right?"

There was a chorus of groans and sighs from those gathered and Rick stepped closer to Andrea.

"Look," he said, "you don't want us to kill him, fine. But it's happening, you don't like it, the gate is just over there. We're talking about protecting our own people here. We're not talking unjustified murder, we're talking about taking out a killer, a threat. No one wants to do it, none of us are eager to put him down—"

"I am," Merle interjected calmly. "Hell, if you even knew half the things he ordered us to do to people, Andrea. Survivors just like your group here, people just looking for a little humanity. The man just takes with no regard to life."

"And you just pulled the trigger for him without question, right?"

"I did what I did to survive, the fact that I'm here means I'm trying to make things right. Do right by you and yours."

"Not me." She said.

"Think what you want, ol' Phil is on his way out."

"Milton?" Andrea tried one last time to get someone on her side.

"I can see where you'd think I'd be your best choice for back-up," the man began, "and as much as I respected Philip, he's not the same as he once was. He's starving people slowly, Andrea. He's become unbalanced and unpredictable. Frankly, I think he's lost his grip on reality. While I don't condone murder, I'd much rather see the people of Woodbury flourish and survive then waste away."

"Fine," she stated rising to her good foot carefully. "I can see Dale was right, we've lost our humanity."

"This isn't the Randall situation," Daryl rasped.

"Daryl's right," Glenn added, "this is a man who has brought pain and suffering on himself. I won't lose sleep over it."

"Rabid dog like that comes near my people I'll put it down, won't even hesitate," the Lieutenant said.

Shaking her head, Andrea hobbled off.

"I say the mall is our best choice then," Sasha said. "If we can lure them there, it'll be safer, easier on us."

"I agree," Rick went on. "We just need some way to lure them there. If the Governor's killing people who go to Woodbury then we'll need a new plan."

"Like a trail or something?" Merle suggested. "Make Phil think you're at the mall somehow."

Sighing heavily, Rick scuffed at the ground with his boot. "We'll take a powder on this one. Get back at it in the morning, clear our heads of some steam." He suggested.

As the group broke up, Daryl found himself lingering with the Lieutenant and Rick who both seemed eager to be rid of the others.

Kicking at the grass with his boot some more, Rick sighed. "What do you figure?"

"I'm just the hired gun," the Lieutenant said.

"Yeah well, you're opinion as a Marine would be nice."

"You want my opinion on warfare? Don't do it," the Lieutenant said. "But if you have to, always try and hit the target at military outposts. Since this one happens to be a civilian base as well, I wouldn't recommend it. Didn't end so well for Nagasaki or Hiroshima."

"So?" Daryl urged.

"You lead the soldiers out of their home, far enough away, then strike. I'd say the mall is your best bet, course I have no idea on how to get them there. But to all things there is a season. But," the soldier paused, "the thing is if you kick the military leg of Woodbury out from under it, the entire group will collapse in on itself and they probably won't make it to winter."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying they'll be defenceless, open prey to uggies or hell even another group that's looking for trouble. That'll be on us."

"Jesus, we don't care about Woodbury," Daryl growled.

"I do," the Lieutenant said. "Call it a protector's urge, but I don't like the idea of leaving them without the means to stay alive."

"What are you proposing then?" Rick asked. "Because I'm all out of ideas on how to make the people of Woodbury happy." His tone took on a slightly sarcastic tint.

"We expand the convent grounds, it's still early enough, we can plant more garden, put up a few more buildings."

"You want us to take them in?" Rick demanded. "The people who want us dead?"

"The old, the young and the infirm, yeah I do," the Lieutenant stated. "Look, I'm not trying to make your lives harder, believe me I don't want to be that man, but I'm a Marine first and foremost. You want a bad man killed, I'm there, but innocents, people just trying to survive, they're mine to protect and I won't leave them to starve or to die at the hands of uggies."

Rubbing his hands over his face, Rick seemed to grow more frustrated with the Lieutenant than he had with even Andrea. "There's no way in hell we're taking in the Woodbury people. Allowing them to live is one thing, but caring for them is a whole other game I'm not ready to play."

"Well, I hate to pull rank, Rick, but this is technically my convent and I'll bring in whomever the hell I want."

"This convent belongs to the nuns," Daryl snarled. "You're just visiting."

The Lieutenant glanced at him, grey eyes reading shock at his tone. "The nuns are all for helping innocents, this is a sanctuary, after all."

Unable to believe the Lieutenant would want to offer shelter and more importantly food to the people who once brayed for his death, Daryl took a step close to the tall man, invading his space. "Man, look around you! There ain't no country left! You ain't a soldier anymore! Those people weren't so innocent when they were cheering me and Merle on in a death match! We don't want them here and if you're going to be a bitch about it, then we'll leave your coonass behind!"

Daryl winced internally when he realized what he said, but he remained firmly in his spot, staring down the man. He knew how much it really bothered the Lieutenant when Merle called him 'coonass', which was why Daryl made the conscientious choice to never call him that, not even in jest.

The Lieutenant blinked. "Coonass?" He whispered quickly, as though reminding himself of the word that had slipped off Daryl's tongue. "Yeah, well, this Cajun boy is out. Fuck you and fuck your plans. _Texians_ like you lot running around shooting people, not caring about the consequences or who you're leaving behind. Nothing but a trail of tears will follow, but you all don't seem to care. _Sans coeur_." He touched his chest. "That's all you are, _sans coeur_."

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

"Damn dog won't stop following me."

Carol smiled down at Judith as she changed her. "That's because he likes you."

"Yeah," Daryl growled from the door to their home, "knows what kind of sucker I am."

Easing onto their bed beside her, Daryl draped his arm over her ribs, moving to grip Judith's little hand gently with his. He was trying to forget what he said to the Lieutenant and how it actually seemed to wound the man. He hadn't felt that bad about hurting someone since he snapped at Carol just after Sophia and the barn. But nothing was working, not when he stalked the forest looking for something to kill, not when he walked the wall, nothing. Every now and then he was reminded of the small, faint twitch the Lieutenant's mouth made, pulling into a straight, grim line quickly when Daryl spat 'coonass' at him. He didn't like that feeling he was getting.

"You know she ain't ours, right?" He growled as Carol continued to fuss over the baby.

"Rick needs the break and Carl's on the wall," she said. "Besides you love her just as much as I do."

Turning her attention from Judith, Carol eyed him quietly for a moment, before asking, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He lied.

Releasing Judith, Daryl placed his hand on Carol's side in the dip between her ribs and her hip and leaned down to press a kiss on her bare shoulder. She was beginning to regain some healthier weight after their slim winter and he liked it, recalling how stunningly beautiful she looked with a healthy weight at the Greene's farm.

Feeling her hand curl around his on at her waist, Daryl leaned against her shoulder, resting his chin there to watch Judith kick and gargle happily.

"Grace was in here earlier," she said.

"So?"

"What happened between you and the Lieutenant?"

"Nothing."

"Then why is he skulking around too?" Carol pressed gently.

"I don't know, got his panties in a bunch about something. Don't ask me."

Scooping Judith into her arms, Carol sat up on the bed and scooched her ass back so that she could look at him in the eye properly. "Grace says the Lieutenant wants to bring the people of Woodbury here. She thinks they could use the help from us."

"Yeah, stupidest thing I've ever heard. No way in hell that's happening." Daryl snarled pushing to his feet.

"Why not? The nuns and the Lieutenant took us in when we needed help the most."

"Yeah, but we aren't bloodthirsty savages," Daryl replied.

"We're about to wage war on human beings," Carol replied calmly. "Sounds pretty bloodthirsty to me."

"We're protecting our own! They started this!"

"Doesn't matter who started it, we're still going to kill people. Living, breathing, human beings. The nuns, they never killed anyone, they still hold hope that man is good at his very core and," she sighed, "and I believe them."

"What?"

"I think we should try to offer aid to Woodbury."

"Think about this," he stated. "We kill their men, you think they're going to be grateful?"

"Why do you have to kill anyone?"

"Because the Governor—"

"The Governor is just one man. Isn't there some kind of peaceful way to end this?"

"No. Hell no. I'm sick of diplomacy," Daryl stated. "To hell with Woodbury. I'll kill them all if I have to just to end this."

"Women and children too?" She asked.

"If that's what it takes."

"Babies like Judith? In their cribs?" Carol pressed eerily calm. "How would you do that? Hm? Put a pillow over their little faces? Press a gun to their head and pull the trigger?"

Daryl took a sheepish step back from her.

"That's not you, Daryl. The Governor is a cruel and evil man, but he's got to be damaged in the head to be as vicious as he is. The people of Woodbury aren't. They're scared and they're human and they're struggling to survive just like us." She swallowed. "I've kept quiet about this for too long. I think it's time you know how I feel about this silly war you and Rick are trying to wage. It doesn't have to end badly. There has to be another way."

Feeling like he had been verbally slapped, Daryl shifted on his feet.

"And for Godsakes, whatever is going on between you and the Lieutenant needs to be cleared up. The man could be dead tomorrow and you'd never forgive yourself if he died on bad terms with you." She said, offering him a small smile. "I know how much he's come to mean to you."

For some reason those words resonated with Daryl more than anything had so far and he backed away from her, nodding his head almost imperceptibly. "Yeah."

Moving in close, Carol pressed a kiss to his cheek, just by his mouth, over his mole. "I know he's become like a brother to you," she said. "Grace says you're almost all he talks about anymore. I think he looks up to you in a small way, like a younger brother looks up to an older brother." She smirked, before adding playfully, "or maybe it's vice versa."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Sans coeur** – Without heart.


	73. Pie Bavarde

**Ms Q - I agree. It's a sticky mess of a situation. Basically you're damned if you do and damned if you don't.**

**Supfan - I know. I wasn't expecting fireworks, but goddamned. Maggie and Glenn get lovely moments (which actually makes me sick as I'm tired of the pairing already) and we get a hand hold...I dunno. Maybe I was just disappointed all around with the finale.**

**itsi3 - I agree. It's nice to see things from an outside perspective once in a while, isn't it?**

**Merle's Right Hand - Hehe, I know, right?**

**Brooklyn'sRoisinDubh - Aw, well thank you. I appreciate hearing that my OC's aren't a pain in the ass. I'm glad you get where I'm coming from with the whole situation. And yes, the Cajun culture is beautiful isn't it? Thanks a million for the review! New reviewers are always welcome and a pleasant treat for me. ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - *two drums and a cymbal fall to the floor***

**HGRHfan35 - I usually don't like to spread hate for characters, since I know some people hate on Carol hardcore, but seriously I can't effing stand Andrea. She's got to be the worst character in the history of the show (including Shane and Lori). And yes, if the sweet bread turns out PM me that recipe! I love trading good recipes with people! ^_^**

**peonies01 - Carol has become his voice of reason, hasn't she? I'm sure it's what Daryl needs more than anything, since he's so hot headed.**

**Lilone1776 - Hehe, I agree. Fuck off Andrea, go and try your hand at peace...**

**MollyMayhem84 - I agree. Daryl would knife anyone who tried to hug him (Rick is the exception since they're already hardcore bros).**

**LL - You know it's nice to hear someone appreciate my decision not to have Daryl and Carol humping everywhere. I think they're both old enough that hardcore sex on any flat surface available wouldn't be their top priority. I enjoy a deeper, more meaningful relationship for them. So thanks for that. I really need to hear reviews like that from time to time. ^_^**

**AFishNamedSushi - It is a hard situation, isn't it? On the one hand the Gov definitely needs to die, but just leaving the others without an 'army' would be cruel. They would be open for anything to pick them off (and I'd imagine the others of Woodbury are about as handfed as Milton).**

**Surplus Imagination - Daryl is a hot head and I think I need to bring a bit more of that Daryl back as things get more and more stressful as the battle gets closer.**

**I wish I knew where this chapter came from...but whatever, here it is. Also, if you're interested in a good version of La Danse de Mardi Gras check out my tumblr page, the video has been posted there. I highly recommend it, it's good solid Cajun music.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Three: Pie Bavarde**

****Old Missy****

Running her fingers over the embossed letters of her bible, Grace idly pondered the path her life had led her.

Perhaps it was idle temptation that drove her from her former path, without novitiates there was no purpose to her convent, to her leadership, without a sign from God that He was there, that He was protecting them, watching over them, she had no end in sight for her path.

Or perhaps it was that this was what God had intended for her.

She supposed it was human arrogance to assume his plan.

In any matter her path had diverted, it had shifted from its course and she was now facing a very curious, very unsure end.

And she prayed. As much as she would have liked to admit she gave up entirely, she didn't. Every morning she knelt by her cot and prayed, she wanted God to understand that while she had abandoned her vows, she never once stopped praying for the safety of her flock, her flock of course expanding to include everyone within the convent walls.

Maybe it was that Catholic guilt she heard so much about that caused her to feel bad about her choices. Or maybe it was the fact that deep down she didn't regret many of them.

One of those choices she didn't regret being, namely, the Cajun who for the longest time had haunted her convent in silence, but had since become a driving force behind their progress and had very recently become somewhat of an intimate acquaintance of hers.

Not intimate in the sexual sense. Good Lord, she had enough to feel guilty about, she didn't need that kind of sin hanging over her head.

No, he had become intimate in the sense that he was the first man she had allowed to kiss her since she was a teenage girl. The only man she had ever shared a bed with, as innocent as it was, the only man she had allowed close to her heart.

As much as she knew she should feel guilt and regret over that choice most of all, she couldn't. Not with the way he looked at her, not with the kindness he had shown her.

There was an odd urge inside her to feel sinful, to feel dirty at the idea of a man looking at a woman in such a way, but the truth was she couldn't feel that way and she didn't.

Wiping away a stray tear from her cheek, Grace slowly pushed her bible away, putting it on the corner of her desk and sighed.

At her side Annie looked up from playing with Boo and eyed her quietly. "Are you okay, mommy?"

She beamed at the girl, there was a certain emotion that she felt when Annie called her 'mommy' now that she had never felt, but she was sure there was no word for it. It was a mixture of pride and joy and a touch of honour to have earned the title. Most women were automatically 'mommy' the instant they conceived a child, but Grace felt a little arrogant pride at the fact that she earned her title.

She supposed that was just one in a long line of mortal sins she'd be committing now that she was just a woman once more.

"I'm fine, honey. I think it's time for bed though."

Annie hopped up from the floor and scurried over to her side. "Can I stay up a little longer? I want to wait for the Lieutenant to come home."

"He is home, sweetie, he's just on watch right now."

"But he'll come back soon, right? He's been out there forever."

Grace touched a hand to Annie's shoulder and turned her around gently so that she could remove the ribbons that held her hair up.

"He should be in soon," she said raking out Annie's dark hair with her fingers first, before opening a drawer in her desk and pulling out a brush. "But you know that bedtime comes whether he's in or not."

"Yeah, but I can't sleep until he sings to me."

"You've done so before, honey, don't try and bluff me." Grace replied calmly, brushing Annie's hair until it shone. It was such a thick, beautiful dark waterfall of hair that the girl had. She had no doubt Annie would grow up to be a very beautiful young woman and she was grateful the convent was lacking in boys, there would be hell to pay if Lafayette ever found a boy after Annie.

"Would you sing to me?" Annie chirped.

Grace laughed blithely. "Oh, Annie Louise, you seem to be labouring under the severe misconception that I can sing as pretty as that soldier of yours."

"He says that you probably sing beautifully," Annie supplied innocently.

"Yes, and you'd believe him if he said the night sky was just God tucking us all in for bed and that the stars were just the light poking through the holes in the weave of the blanket."

"Could be, you don't know that it isn't," Annie argued.

Putting the brush away, Grace reached down and pulled Annie up into her lap and held the girl tightly. "You've been spending too much time with the Lieutenant," she whispered, half scolding, half amused, before pressing a quick kiss to Annie's cheek and sliding her off her lap again. "But it's still bedtime."

Annie wrinkled her nose. "Really? I promise I'll be quiet!"

"Nope, bedtime."

"Okay, but you have to sing to me and I'll go," Annie bartered.

Grace sighed lightly. "Alright, but you tell no one, okay?"

"Okay!"

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

"I'd like to buy you everything, a wooden bird with painted wings, a window full of colored rings in morning Morgantown. But the only thing I have to give, to make you smile, to win you with, are all the mornings still to live in morning Morgantown."

As Grace sang softly to Annie, she cradled the child close to her chest, protecting her from the cool night air, protecting her from anything that would come at them in the darkness.

As she sang to Annie, she felt the girl still, then go slack as sleep took her over, the tiny arm that was slung around Grace's middle loosening its hold of her, sliding back towards Annie slowly.

Closing her eyes, Grace prepared to drift off herself, opening them what felt like mere seconds later when she felt a presence hovering over her.

Panicked, her eyes snapped open as a mouth covered hers gently.

For a moment she tensed, prepared to strike, but it was soothed at the last minute by a pair of grey eyes peering down at her in the darkness of her room.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," she hissed to the Lieutenant as he pulled away from her.

Smiling impishly, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to Annie's cheek, before straightening.

"How long have you been lingering?" She asked.

Standing by the bed, his hand wrapped around the strap of his rifle, he shrugged. "Long enough to hear a pretty little tribute to Joni Mitchell."

Grace felt her cheeks grow hot. "And I suppose you're going to tease me mercilessly."

He angled his head, unsure. "I wouldn't say that. If anything being around this place has taught me more mercy then I've ever known. Besides, I believe I said it was a 'pretty' little tribute."

"Well, the child wouldn't sleep without a song and it was the only one I could remember by heart that wasn't a Baptist hymn from my childhood." She studied the man in the darkness as he milled around the middle of the room. "Are you just going to haunt my room all night or are you coming to bed?"

He shrugged. "I figured I'd take over on the gate for a while, just wanted to stop in first."

Eyeing the way the Cajun fidgeted with the strap of his rifle, the way the fingers on his free hand drummed against his thigh, Grace sighed lightly. "Have you spoken with Daryl yet?"

He shook his head. "Naw, I figured I'd give him his space."

"Everything will be fine, Fate," she whispered. "Disagreements happen."

While she didn't know just what had happened between the two, she was sure something had. It was written in the way the man had held himself after returning from the planning session, how he was oddly quiet and fidgety. All she got out of him was that Daryl had said something which made him oddly uncomfortable, but there were no further details to be weaned from him.

"It," he paused, drumming his fingers again. "It doesn't bother you that I'm Cajun, does it, _cher_?"

"Why would it, honey?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Suppose there's a stigma to being Cajun, a bit."

"What kind of stigma?"

"Seems the rest of the world looks down on us a bit," he admitted softly. "I guess to them we talk funny. Living on the bayou, we don't really have a successful economy, we ain't farmers or ranchers, got no real means to anything, except maybe shrimping down the bayou. I guess, maybe we're just seen as poorly educated, bare footed simpletons sitting on our front porches playing _La Danse de Mardi Gras _on our fiddles and accordions and eating gator stew."

"You talk fine to me and it's not the Cajun people's fault that they settled on swamplands. Louisiana seems to do just fine without farmers or ranchers."

"Used to be a time, I talked with a much thicker accent," he said. "It watered down some in the corps, overseas with the other boys."

"I wouldn't worry too much about being Cajun, sweetheart," Grace cooed. "I happen to think it's a beautiful culture and you're a fine man regardless. Now forget the gate for one night and come to bed."

Smiling sweetly at her from where he stood, the Lieutenant stilled his fidgeting hand and took a step back. "I'm going to marry you one day, girl." He said.

She grinned at him. "That's fine, honey, now come to bed. I'm not going to tell you again."

Moving across the room, Lafayette close their door, flipping the latch to lock it securely from outside threats, before heading back towards their bed, pulling his rifle off his shoulder and setting the safety lock.

Grace watched his bedtime routine quietly, enjoying how intimate it seemed as he placed his rifle close to the bed, tucking it tightly between the cot and the nightstand.

With his rifle off his shoulder, he settled his near constant pack companion on the floor beneath the window and began unbuttoning his flak jacket.

"I don't know how you can stand all those layers, honey," she said.

He smiled. "It may seem like lovely weather to you all here, but I actually find it a little chilly."

"You'll adjust one day."

Removing his flak jacket and his long sleeved camo shirt, the Lieutenant hung both on the decorative newel post corner of her chifferobe.

"You know you can actually hang those inside, sweetheart," Grace stated. "I wouldn't mind."

"I would," he began puckishly, "only I'm afraid to find something red and lacy inside."

Tsking at his tone, Grace glanced down to ensure Annie was still asleep. "I had that thing burned weeks ago," she said.

"You know what confuses me about that tiny little scrap of lace," the man went on. "The fact that you held on to it for so long…"

Grace blinked up at him as he glanced sideways at her with eyes that danced with mirth. She felt a flush work its way up her neck and touched her free hand to the base of her throat.

Grinning wickedly, the Cajun opened the door of her chifferobe and hung his clothing inside it.

The longer the silence, the more Grace felt she needed to explain her side of the story, but she was so embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

"I like red," she whispered softly, almost inaudibly.

He closed the door and turned to face her patiently. "Sorry? I missed that."

"I like red," she confessed. "And I thought the lace was actually quite pretty."

"Did you really burn it?" He inquired.

"Yes."

"Lying is a sin, isn't it?" Lafayette asked casually as he perched on the edge of the cot at her feet to remove his boots.

Grace frowned, before reaching under the mattress by her side and pulling out the little scrap of red lace with a nervous glance at the man.

He eyed the thing she was revealing, before turning teasing eyes on her. "You're a magpie," he stated.

She laughed softly and crammed the thing back under the mattress. "Well, don't get excited," she declared, "I'd never wear it. I just like looking at it."

"What else you have stashed under there?"

"That's it," she said firmly. "Don't go poking around under my mattress, it's ungentlemanly."

Laughing, the Cajun tilted his head. "Alright, if you say so, _beb_."

Nervously adjusting the sheet of the bed so that it covered the little crack between the mattress and the frame of the cot, Grace cleared her throat.

Lafayette blinked at her as he toed off a boot. "Oh holy hell," he finally declared, "you're weird."

"I'm not weird," she hissed. "I just…don't look under my mattress is all."

"I'm in love with a weird girl…" he mused.

"I am not weird."

"Oh, I'm definitely marrying you." He announced.

She paused in her protests, eyeing him with an odd look.

Straightening his boots so that they sat side by side neatly, the man crawled over her and Annie, settling in at their side. He pulled both of them close to him, protecting them with his body.

"You don't mind if I'm a little odd?" She whispered.

"_Honeychild_, I'm a forty-four year old Cajun sniper who was raised by a very strong and independent woman, nothing is odd to me." He muttered.

Grace blinked. "It's a spork," she confessed.

"What?" He opened his eyes.

"I have a spork under the mattress with the negligee."

"What the hell is a spork?"

Reaching under the form mattress of the cot, Grace pulled the utensil out from where it had been tucked into the puckered elastic hem of the bedsheet. "It's a half spoon, half fork."

Lafayette eyed the thing in the dark with a mild frown. "Why?"

"There must have been some mix up at the utensil warehouse, when they shipped our utensils here to the convent, we had a spork among the spoons…I don't know why I kept it. Maybe because I needed order in our eating utensil drawer…or maybe I just…maybe I'm just bored or something." She offered.

"No, I meant why the hell would someone even need one of those things?"

Grace shrugged.

Quirking a brow, the Cajun eyed the thing one last time before grinning. "Well, despite the odd human behaviour in creating a spoon-fork hybrid, I have never been more in love with someone…"

She flushed and tucked the thing back under the mattress. "I'm not crazy, I just…it wasn't stealing. I mean, I didn't intend to keep it or anything. They're our utensils after all."

"You're a magpie," he explained closing his eyes once more. "Go to bed, magpie."

Lying awake for a few more minutes, Grace felt herself finally calm down enough to close her eyes.

"Fate?"

"Yes, my little _pie bavarde_?" He replied.

"I'm very fond of you."

He beamed. "I love you too, magpie."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Pie bavarde** - Magpie

**La Danse de Mardi Gras** - A traditional Cajun song


	74. Mal Pris II

**Azzkick4Ammo - Maybe. Though people are going to die soon, so...who knows?**

**Axelrocks - Ah, that's okay. Can't expect you to review all the time (though I do worry when my loyal reviewers are gone for a while...)**

**Brazen Hussy - Spork is also the sound that Aquaman's suit makes on dry land when he takes it off and drops it on the floor. The more YOU know...**

**peonies01 - Thank you. It's lovely to have such kind reviewers. You're a genuine peach. ^_^**

**raizingkain2001 - Meh, not bad. A little too young looking for the Lt., but probably up there with my top five favourite reviewer choices. Thanks for the review! ^_^**

**HGRHfan35 - Well, happy anniversary to you. I'm looking forward to that sweet bread update. ^_^ I would love to see your Caryl painting. Hit me up with a PM and I'll send you my email so that I can feast my eyes on sweet bread and sweet Caryl. ^_^**

**Laura - Thank you for the review! I'm glad you think this story is getting better. You're a kind person.**

**LL - I agree. Smut is a lovely thing, but Caryl is just deeper somehow to me. Like more innocent and pure. Almost old fashioned in a strange way...**

**itsi3 - Cher is a beautiful word, isn't it? I love how the Cajun's say it, just rolls off their tongues 'sha'. Like a whisper almost.**

**Lilone1776 - I'd like to, but death is a thing which happens in this world...**

**Merle's Right Hand - Weird people are the best. You make the world go around (says a perfectly normal person).**

**Supfan - I agree. I was expecting death and destruction and it seemed to just...fizzle out at the end.**

**GG - Hmm...Daryl and Lt. make up sex...? Wouldn't that piss the Carylers off? Ah haha, I could just imagine it, the Lt. being all cheeky and Daryl being all grumpy...I'm obviously kidding, you guys. Cool your balls down.**

**You know what I love about my reviewers? You never have anything unnecessarily cruel and malicious to say to me. You're probably on the top of the list of wonderful, intelligent human beings that I've been honoured with having exchanges with. You keep on being beautiful people my lovelies.**

**That being said, this is the chapter that begins the heartache.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Four: Mal Pris II  
**

****The Lieutenant****

The sun seemed to shine just a little differently over Georgia than it did over the bayou.

Sitting on the East wall early the next morning, the Lieutenant watched as the sun forced streams of golden light through the freshly budding trees of the forest and gauge the day from the way it was beginning.

It was going to be hot, but the humidity made rain a possibility later in the evening. Hell, maybe even a spring rainstorm.

That would make Annie's night a lot harder.

Deciding it was a good day to hunt down that _salud_ turkey, the Lieutenant eyed the forest below him, looking for a good spot to hop down from the wall.

"It's gonna be hot today," he addressed the form approaching him from his three o'clock. "Bayou hot."

Turning he grinned widely at Carol as she stopped neatly at his side.

"Morning, _ange_."

She smiled sweetly at him. "Morning, Lieutenant."

"What are you up to this early?" He asked.

"Going hunting," she said, holding up her rifle with a child-like grin.

He chuckled. "Oh? Wasn't aware you hunted."

"I've never hunted before, but I figured you'd be as good a teacher as any."

"Daryl know you wanna head out?"

"He's not my keeper." She replied.

"No, but he's already mad at me, shouldn't poke the gator more than necessary."

"Why are you two fighting?" She asked softly.

The Lieutenant squinted at the sunlight. "Oh, I suppose it's because I'm the conflict that's standing in the way of the force."

"Did you say something you regret?"

"No."

She was quiet for a moment. "Did he?"

"You know there was a man one time, he said 'never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself'. I never had time to adjust to normal life after our transport landed from Fallujah. I went from bloodshed and violence over there to hopelessness and bloodshed here. I'm tired, _ange_. I'm so tired of the blood and the death and everyday not knowing who'll live and who'll die. Maybe I just wanted a touch of humanity for the first time in years. But I must go alone, I suppose. Can't worry the others, burden them with my troubles when they have so many of their own."

"Does Grace know about this?" Carol asked. "How you feel?"

"Course not, why worry her?" Flashing her a plastic grin, the Lieutenant tipped his chin down ever so. "She's battling her own issues right now, I would imagine. Couldn't do that to her. Besides, it's not like I'm stressed right now, I'm calm, centred, found a zen-like state by harnessing my chi."

Despite his attempt at a joke, Carol felt her heart pull. The man covered so much of himself with laughter and smiles, she had never expected him to be at such a spot within himself.

Reaching out she gripped his forearm gently, squeezing it. "You know we love you, don't you? All of us?"

"Yeah, half the reason why I don't say much about it," he said. "Never been cared for so much by so many," he went on. "Don't want to abuse that with my problems."

"It's what family's for, Lieutenant," she said. "We're supposed to carry the burden for you when you find yourself floundering in troubled waters."

"I'm not floundering just yet, _ange_." He assured her with a wink. "But I know that you've all got me if I need it. Now I'd like to take you hunting, but this character coming up on our six fast seems like he might want to take you out instead."

The two of them glanced over their shoulders to find Daryl moving towards them.

"You know he's not really the type that apologizes," Carol said.

"I know."

"But you know he's sorry for whatever he said or did."

"Yeah, I know that too. The man was sorry the instant he said it and I forgave him the minute we walked away."

Carol smiled, just as Daryl hopped up onto the wall beside them.

The Lieutenant eyed him as Daryl cautiously edged closer to them, offering him a grim nod.

He returned the nod simply.

"It's gonna be hot today," the Lieutenant pointed out.

"Find all sorts of creatures by the creek," Daryl replied. "Good hunting in the heat."

"Yep."

Carol beamed at the two. "I'm going to take a rain check today, Lieutenant." She said.

"You sure?"

"Positive. Be careful, boys."

Helping Carol off the wall like the gentleman his _Mamere_ raised, the Lieutenant nodded his goodbye to her as she waved at them both, before turning to Daryl.

"She sure is a special woman, isn't she?" The Lieutenant asked.

Daryl nodded. "Yeah."

Rubbing at his eyebrow with his thumb, the Lieutenant cleared his throat. "You know I'd never put her or anyone here in jeopardy, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I got lost in the swamp?" The Lieutenant went on casually, hopping off the wall, Daryl close at his heels. "Was out in the bayou for three days straight…"

"Did you wipe your ass with poison oak?" Daryl asked.

"Hell no, but I did get a case of crotch itch from the chafing effects of wet blue jeans and extreme heat…"

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

Deciding the hunting would be better further north down by the river that ran along behind the prison, the two men had headed that way, crossing the highway, heading up a dirt road that lead to a hunting lodge tucked away deep in the woods.

It must have been a decent sized lodge, as it had a few cabins circling around it and about a half dozen blinds scattered throughout the forest all around.

It would have made a good place to stay, if it wasn't for the fact that it didn't have the safety of a wall and was tucked in almost ass to tit with the surrounding forest.

Treading quietly in the hopes of coming across game bigger than a possum, they moved together, mindful of the leaves at their feet.

Pushing through the underbrush into an open meadow, they expected to come across a deer or something for dinner.

What they weren't expecting was to find themselves face to face with two armed men who looked like they just finished checking the blind in the tree before them.

There was a crack of a gunshot and Daryl dropped beside the Lieutenant.

With his mind going into automatic Marine takeover, the Cajun fired his own rifle, dropping to one knee to make him a smaller target in the wide open as they were.

A searing pain flared up in his shoulder, but he ignored it, firing until both men were down, the forest around him alive with the snaps of gunshots.

"Jesus fuck!" Daryl snapped.

Reaching blindly for the man, the Lieutenant scuttled over to him on his hands and knees.

"Where'd they get you?" He demanded.

There was so much blood on Daryl's shirt already, more seeping through from his stomach.

"Fuck!" Daryl grunted.

Hands on the hem of Daryl's shirt, the Lieutenant paused at the sound of voices and the snaps of twigs, a group of five, maybe six heading their way.

"Can you walk?" The Lieutenant demanded.

Daryl struggled to his feet, hand held tight over his wound.

"Come on, we have to go," he urged.

Hearing the voices getting closer, the Cajun tried to propel Daryl on faster, but he staggered.

"Jesus," the Cajun cursed, dropping his rifle and pack to remove his flak jacket. "Here, put this on and run like hell, don't stop until you get back to the convent."

Daryl tried to shrug the vest off. "Fuck off."

"I'm going to buy you some time, _cabri_, wear it in case they shoot." The Lieutenant insisted, zipping the Kevlar vest closed on the struggling man.

"Fuck you," the other man snarled.

Frowning, the Cajun shoved the man down hard onto his face and grabbing his rifle took off running in the direction of the voices. Stomach wounds weren't necessarily fatal, not if Daryl got proper care in time and if it missed a vital organ he'd be golden. If he hauled ass to the convent he might have a chance, the Lieutenant wasn't sure what kind of care he'd get with these new people. Especially not once they found out their companions were dead.

Skidding to a halt as he suddenly came upon the men who owned the voices, the Lieutenant immediately dropped his weapon as he found six trained on him and fell to his knees, hands in the air.

"Your men shot first," he stated sliding his hands behind his head.

The leader of the group, a strong looking black man, stepped forward and kicked the Lieutenant's rifle away.

"You alone?" The man demanded.

"Yeah."

"Our men dead?" Another man asked.

Eyeing the guns trained on him, the Lieutenant nodded. "Yeah."

"In the head?"

Knowing they'd head off in the direction of Daryl to finish their men, the Lieutenant nodded. "Clean shot to the left eye, both of them."

"Where'd you come from?" The man asked.

"Been staying in a little shack up the river a ways," the Lieutenant lied.

The barrel of a rifle was pressed to his temple. "You lying to us?" Another man asked. This one was young and looked like he was fresh out of high school. Or would have been in a perfect world.

"Why would I? Don't hold your barrel to my head, son," he added after a moment. "It's rude and gives me opportunity to snatch it easily."

The kid backed off on the rifle a bit, eyeing the others nervously.

"He looks military, Shu." One of the men said, addressing the black man.

"You army?" Shu asked.

"Is there even an army anymore?"

Finding a boot stuck up against his ribs roughly, the Lieutenant grunted in pain, but remained upright.

"You military?" The man demanded.

"Lieutenant Lafayette Vancoughnett, USMC, Fifth Marine Division, First Recon Battalion."

"Put your hands behind your back," the black man ordered.

As the Lieutenant did so, the black man moved up behind him and zap strapped his hands together tightly at the wrists. It wasn't until the man tugged roughly on the strap to ensure its hold around his wrists that the Lieutenant felt the pain from the gunshot to his shoulder.

"Look, it was an accident," the Lieutenant said. "I'm sorry, but instinct cut in and I didn't mean to kill them…"

"Shut up," the man ordered.

"We should kill him," one of the men supplied.

"We can't," the black man snapped. "The Governor is going to want to see this one. If he's from the area, he might know of the prison group."

Forcing his chest to rise and fall slowly, the Cajun blinked and cleared his throat. "Who are you people?" He asked. "I was on the trail of a turkey and just came across your boys."

The men ignored him.

"You got a group nearby?" He tried to engage them once more, but they continued to talk amongst themselves.

"Look," he went on, "I'm sorry about your men, but it was pure survival instinct."

"We have to go back for Clarence and Justin," the young man suggested softly. "We can't leave them to rot in the forest."

Deciding he needed to distract them in case Daryl needed more time to escape, the Lieutenant broke in quickly. "Times being what they are, son, I don't think it really matters much where your boys rot."

At the six pair of glaring eyes, the Cajun winced. "May they rest in peace."

"You talk too much," the black man snarled.

That was the last thing he heard, before he collapsed face first onto the forest floor.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****Daryl****

By the time he scrambled to his feet, the dumb assed Cajun was long gone. Looking around in confusion, holding his hand tightly to the area over the vest where his wound was, he searched for his crossbow.

He needed to find the Lieutenant, he had to pull his weight.

Fuck, what kind of asshole was he? Getting shot like a little bitch by a couple of bitches in the woods.

Staggering to his knees beside his crossbow, he picked it up and looked around again.

He had to get back to the convent, get the others.

Scrambling through the woods, he dropped to his knees a few times in his haste.

"Fuck," he snapped to himself as he collapsed at the highway. "Get it together you fucking pussy."

Dropping flat into the ditch as he heard a truck approaching, Daryl peeked out over the edge of the road, watching as a heavy military transport truck drove by, driven by the black man who was there the night Daryl and Merle were put into the death match arena of Woodbury. He couldn't forget a face, especially not of the man who put his grimy assed Woodbury paws all over his crossbow like it was some piece of ass instead of a fine piece of instant death.

Eyeing the road where the truck had come from, he spied the driveway into the hunting lodge and narrowed his eyes.

Fucking Woodbury had the Lieutenant, it had to have been them and if the dumb ass was still alive he wouldn't be much longer.

"Fuck," he snarled.

Clamping his hand over his wound, he got to his feet and started off in the direction of the convent once more.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect  
**

**Erm...nothing new here actually. Oh, but I would like to make it clear that Cajun French is very different from Parisian French and Quebecois and Michif for that matter...and Haitian French actually. You know something, each variation of French is actually vastly different from the others. Just thought that should be said. Thanks for reading. ^_^**


	75. Defan

**peonies01 - Aw, the Lt. is oddly much beloved by people. Honestly wasn't expecting so much love for an OC.**

**Laura - Haha! I know, they're more alike then either would ever admit...well the Lt. would probably admit it, but only to torment Daryl.**

**Brooklyn'sRoisinDubh - The Lt. is a fairly easy going man, isn't he?**

**itsi3 - Aw, it's sweet that you get so involved with the OC. ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - Bwahahahaha B'wana Beast! But how can you feel that way? His helmet is FAB-U-LOUS! Ah, fellow comic book geeks please me, especially DC fans.**

**HGRHfan35 - Well, if the acid in the stomach actually leaks into the chest cavity, then yes a stomach wound can be a huge fucking bitch and basically deadly without proper medical care. (Did her research). *smug mode***

**MollyMayhem84 - Oh, believe me, I'm working on getting Andrea bumped off...bitches days are coming to an end soon.**

**Merle's Right Hand - Hey, babes, you know I have nothing interesting to say really. But I adore you. If I could be kick ass like you, my life would be boss. That is all.**

**Lilone1776 - God, character deaths are horrid little shits, aren't they? Like a bird crapping on a Buick Riviera, it's gotta be illegal to kill beloved characters.**

**Ms Q - The world of TWD is a hard one, isn't it? People die so casually and you never get proper time to grieve. Well, let's hope no one you love dies in this story.**

**ldyjaydin - Walkers can smell blood like hounds, can't they? Poor guys are going to be facing shit all around them.**

**GG - It's shockingly true though. I speak Quebecois French because it's what I grew up with in Canada, but when you hear people speaking Parisian French it kind of shocks you. They sound so similar, but the words hold different meanings. For example in Cajun French you'd say 'foutre' if you stubbed your toe, in Quebecois it'd be 'tabernacle'...yes, the swears are basically my extent of knowledge when it comes to French. ^_^**

**SilverWolf84 - Thank you. I hope you don't hate me when I kill some people...**

**Surplus Imagination - Fay is a soldier, he's probably used to sacrificing himself for others. But yeah, he does seem to be intent on dying, doesn't he?**

**Supfan - Thank you! ^_^ I appreciate all the support you've given me through kind reviews.**

**Aphrodite2 - Geez, sorry about that wasted day. I often feel that way when I sit down to write a chapter and one chapter becomes three and I've gotten nothing done. I'm glad you at least think the wasted day was worth it. ^_^ Thanks a lot for your review! It means the world to me.**

**rosesoul - I shall try to write as much and as often as possible. But thanks for the review. I love each and every one I get.**

**Axelrocks - Yeah, that Governor asshole needs to die soon, don't he? ^_^**

**Anyways, I may have some hate mail coming my way after this chapter...please be kind in your death threats at least.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Five: Defan**

****Daryl****

Under the Kevlar vest Daryl's shirt was soaked with blood and it clung to him in a sticky sheet of gore.

He was losing too much blood, too fast and it was beginning to take its toll on his ability to function properly.

Kneeling he stooped over to vomit up onto the forest floor, before his forced himself to press on, his trembling legs threatening to give out on him.

Cursing their decision to hunt far to the north, he paused against a tree, holding himself up with difficulty, his vision focusing then blurring as the trees began to dance around on him, the forest floor rolling and bumping.

Taking a step away from the tree, he staggered and collapsed into a heap, curling up in a fetal position to fight off the chill that was creeping up on him.

He should have known this was going to happen. Like he'd be lucky enough to have an easy, happy life, like hope would give him one fucking break.

"Get up," he ordered himself. "Get up."

Staggering to his feet, he stumbled and fell, but got up again, fighting the dancing trees to get his bearings.

He didn't even hear it until it was upon him, all gnashing teeth and clawing hands.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****The Lieutenant****

"Do you know why you're here?"

Blinking awake into a blurry, dim world, the Lieutenant spied a form hovering over him, offset by the white ceiling.

Struggling to focus, to comprehend where he was, the man blinked rapidly.

His head felt like someone slammed it hard with a scoop shovel, his shoulder burned white hot fire and he couldn't be entirely sure, but it felt like one of his ribs was broken.

Of course, he wouldn't know, because he had been strapped down so tightly to the table he was lying on that he could barely breathe.

The man standing over him smiled. It seemed insincere and fake.

"Hello there," the man began again. "Do you know why you're here?"

Smacking his cottony mouth, the Lieutenant coughed, feeling the blood in his head throb in his veins.

"I shot your men," he finally said.

"Yes." The man returned, still smiling his crocodile grin. "Yes you did."

"They fired first," he muttered.

"Did they?" Taking a seat at his bedside, the man sighed. "This isn't the wild west," he went on. "You can't shoot people without repercussions."

"It was self-defence."

"Well since you're the last man standing I guess we'll never know. The fact of the matter is you're about to face your judge, jury and executioner."

"Speaking of the wild west," the Lieutenant said.

The man chuckled. "Welcome to Woodbury, soldier, they call me the Governor."

"That's one hell of a name," the Lieutenant replied. "Your daddy hate you or something?"

Reaching up the man turned an overhead light on the Cajun, blasting his sensitive eyes cruelly.

"No, nothing like that." The Governor said. "See, the people here seem to think I'm the right man to lead them. They kind of look up to me."

"That explains why you're my judge, jury and executioner, then."

"Hate to do it, but fair is fair. But don't worry, every man has his day in court here."

"No offence to your wild west justice, _Texian_, but there's a reason you're keeping me alive long enough to give me the glare down, yeah?" The Lieutenant asked.

The man nodded. "You're a sharp man. Lieutenant, is it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Lieutenant, I just need a little bit of information from you before your day in court."

"You have my complete attention, _bibitte tête_."

"If you're from this area, you must have been by the prison just over yonder, am I right?"

"Sure, big place, good hunting north of her."

"You know the group living there?"

"I knew_ a_ group was living there, but I kept my distance from them. Learned the hard way how people have become since the world went to shit."

"You know anything about where they went? See anything? Find anything interesting?" The Governor asked, pulling out a pair of scissors from a drawer nearby.

The Lieutenant eyed them cautiously, breathing only once the man pulled out some fine fishing line and a set of medical needles.

"_Mais_, not really. I've had my head buried in the proverbial sand since last fall, but I figured something was up when the game around there got thicker for the picking."

Easing up beside him, the Governor smiled. "So," he began casually, "it's just you? One lowly soldier on his own? Hell of an army we have remaining."

Remembering the horror stories Merle had told him of the Governor's love for military rations and weapons, the Lieutenant tilted his head. "My platoon slowly dried up during the fall until it was just me and the uggies." He winced as the man stuck the needle into his arm to begin sewing up his wound. "Course by the looks of your men, there isn't much military training among them. Boy had his barrel to my head like he was in a Tarantino film."

"Well, all my best men got killed by the prison group," the man said. "We had to recruit a few of the…less capable men around here."

"Like a teenage boy? What is he? Fourteen? Sixteen?"

"Noah's eighteen, I believe."

"Bet his mama isn't happy with the new arrangement."

"She'll get over it. We all have to pull our weight these days."

"Amen to that."

The two men were silent, Lafayette struggling to come up with a plan, any plan, of escape.

"So, how do you do it here? Firing squad? Feed me to the uggies at the gate? Appease your pagan God by burning me alive in a wickerman?" The Lieutenant asked.

The Governor smiled almost serenely at his work. "Oh, don't worry about that yet. You still have a trial to live through." After a long pause, the man looked up from his work with his remaining blue eye. "You're not…with the prison group, are you?"

"See, that's an unfair question, _bibitte tête_," the Lieutenant said. "I answer you honestly, you'll stab me with those scissors, I answer you falsely and you'll do the same. There won't be a trial, there won't be a firing squad, just you and a pair if itty bitty scissors."

"Then there's no harm in giving me the truth," the man said with a smile. "Because either way you're going to lose, you may as well help me take down a group of terrorists first."

"Will that get me into heaven? I really want to go there." The Lieutenant returned. "You make my death fast and I'll tell you the honest-to-God's truth."

"I promise," the Governor said. "You tell me the truth and I'll let it be swift and relatively painless."

A lifetime he would never live passed through the Lieutenant's mind. Summers spent with Grace under the peach tree, Annie growing up, demanding to be called Anne as it was much more mature sounding, her finding her first love and losing it just as quickly.

"You seem like a good, honest man," the Lieutenant said softly.

"I try to be."

Inhaling deeply, the Cajun nodded. "Yeah, don't we all." Swallowing the fear of death back, the Lieutenant sighed. "Will you promise to do me a favour when I'm dead?" He asked.

"I promise."

"Take my dog tags and give them to my little girl?"

"I thought you were alone."

"I lied. Sorry."

"Where's your little girl, Lieutenant?"

"A few months ago the remains of my platoon holed up in this mall nearby, just the four of us and their families. I want you to promise me you'll get my dog tags back to my little girl there. It's the Westgate Mall, just off the highway."

"I know the mall, I promise I'll get word back to your people."

Feeling tears prick his eyes, the Lieutenant swallowed again, thickly. "Tell her that I love her more than I love anything, you tell her that, yeah? That she's the smartest, prettiest girl in the world and no man will ever be good enough for her."

"I will."

"And you tell my wife that I never got around to telling her how much life she breathed back into me. That she's the one thing in this world that gave me pure joy."

"I'll make sure your people get taken care of properly," the Governor said. "Don't worry. It'll all be over soon."

"I don't know nothing about your prison group," the Lieutenant went on. "But I can tell you that a few days ago a couple of people came to join us at the mall, they wouldn't say where they came from, just that they were tired and hungry. If they're terrorists, maybe you could at least save my people from them. Maybe I can make myself useful, at least, for my family's sake."

Nodding, the Governor stood up. "I hope we can get to your people in time to save them," he said.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****The Governor****

Stepping out of the clinic, he wiped the blood off his hands onto a handkerchief and jangled the dog tags in his other hand, before tossing them down the corridor as far as he could fling them.

Noah eyed him from beside the door quietly.

"Don't let anyone inside until Shumpert and I get back. When he turns, put him into the holding cells with the others."

"Is he dead?" Noah asked.

Turning to face the boy, the Governor smiled broadly. "He's a terrorist, son, don't worry about him. You just watch the door, keep it locked until we return, that's all you have to do."

"Yes, sir."

"Noah, I'm going to need you to follow these orders," the man said, clamping his hand on the boy's shoulder. "We're depending on you to keep Woodbury safe."

"I promise, sir."

The Governor beamed at him. "Good boy, you wait here and we'll be back as soon as we can." He started walking away, before stopping and turning back to face the young man. "Want anything from the mall, son?"

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****Little Missy****

Playing under the shade of the walnut tree, pushing her doll on the swing, Annie hummed to herself, purposely ignoring the chalkboard beneath the tree.

She was supposed to be practicing spelling, but she didn't want to, so she wasn't. If Mother Mena got mad, well the worst the woman seemed to do was huff and puff like the old wolf in the three little pig's story and that wasn't at all scary.

"Get help," someone croaked from beyond the nearby wall.

Wandering over to the wall carefully, Annie eyed it.

"Who's there?" She cooed.

"Get help," the person replied again softly.

"Why?"

"I can't move."

"Mr. Daryl?"

"Get help, Annie."

"Okay!" Turning from the wall, Annie looked for whomever was closest, coming up with Father O'Rourke on the wall heading their way.

"Father O'Rourke!" She screamed, racing for him. "Father O'Rourke! Father O'Rourke!"

He knelt on the wall. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Mr. Daryl says he needs help!"

Standing the man looked about. "Where is he?"

"He's in the wall! Over here!" She raced back to the wall by the walnut tree, pointing the whole time in the direction.

Father O'Rourke followed her on the way patiently.

"There! He's in there!" She pointed to the area where Mr. Daryl was talking to her from.

As the man approached on the top of the wall, his face shifted from mildly curious to absolute horror.

"Jesus," he whispered, crossing himself, before hopping off the wall out of sight.

Annie hopped up and down, trying to see what was happening on the other side.

"What's going on?" She asked. "Father O'Rourke? What is it? Father O'Rourke?"

Scrambling up the walnut tree, scraping her hands and knees in the process, Annie climbed high enough to find Father O'Rourke already scurrying away from the wall, Mr. Daryl pressed limply against him.

"I need help!" Father O'Rourke shouted over the wall.

Seeing no one nearby, Annie slipped down from the tree again and rushed off with Boo at her heels. Mother Mena would know what to do or Carol.

She turned the corner of the church and nearly collided with Mr. Rick who was doing that staring thing he sometimes did.

Grabbing hold of his hand, Annie tugged it. "Mr. Rick! Mr. Rick! Mr. Daryl was inside the wall and he said he needed help and then Father O'Rourke said he needed help too!"

The man frowned down at her, before rushing off in the direction of the gate, leaving Annie to continue onwards, racing to get everyone she could. The more hands, the more help.

"Ms. Sasha!" She shouted to the woman on the wall. "Mr. Daryl was in the wall and now Father O'Rourke needs help too!"

Skidding to a halt at the edge of the garden, knowing how Mother Mena would huff and puff if she stepped one foot into it, Annie waved her arms and hopped up and down to get attention. "Mother Mena!" She shouted. "Carol! Mr. Daryl was in the wall and needs help!" She screamed.

All the women weeding the garden looked over and up at her.

"What?" Mother Mena asked.

"Mr. Daryl was in the wall and then he needed help and now Father O'Rourke needs help too!" She repeated. "And Mr. Rick and Ms. Sasha are going to help too, but they probably need help!"

There was a small beat of time that passed, before Mother Mena and the other women in the garden dropped what they were doing and raced for the gate.

Annie carried on, passing Mr. Merle and Mr. Milton who were fighting over how to fix the hand wringer.

"Mr. Merle! Mr. Milton! Mr. Daryl was in the wall and needs help!" She screamed on her way past, heading for the infirmary where Ms. Michonne and Ms. Andrea usually spent their days.

Bursting into the infirmary, she collided with Ms. Michonne.

"Mr. Daryl was in the wall and needs help!" She exclaimed.

The woman frowned at Annie, but the little girl was already on her way out, heading for the gate.

She staggered backwards onto her rear inside the infirmary when she came face to face with a very bloody Mr. Daryl being held up by several people.

Annie eyed the blood quietly from where she sat on the floor by the door, watching silently as the procession passed her by.

"Were you bit?" Mr. Rick demanded.

"Where's the Lieutenant?" Mr. Tyreese asked.

Annie was suddenly scared and looked around for someone to keep her safe.

A strong arm wrapped itself around her middle and picked her up off the ground.

"What type blood is he?" Mr. Herschel demanded, limping towards the group as they headed into the infirmary.

"Don't know," Mr. Merle replied, still holding Annie off the ground with his good arm.

"We need a type O negative," Mr. Milton stated. "Is someone type O negative?"

"He's lost so much blood," someone muttered.

"I'm type O negative," Sister Mary Elizabeth said.

Squirming in his arm, Annie turned to bury her face against Mr. Merle's neck, crying softly, eyes still on Mr. Daryl's bloody body.

"Where's Lafayette?" Mother Mena asked.

"They have him," Mr. Daryl muttered. "He'll lead them to the mall, you have to get there."

"What do you mean have him?" Mother Mena demanded.

There was no response.

"Can I get some damned room?!" Mr. Herschel snarled. "Get that woman prepped for blood!" He snapped to Mr. Milton who nodded quietly and began to tend to Sister Mary Elizabeth as Mr. Merle took Annie away from the infirmary.

She kept her eyes on Mr. Daryl's pale face until the very last, wanting to remember him the way she remembered her mommy. The Lieutenant would make everything better when he got back, he'd hold her and save Mr. Daryl and no one would be sad.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Defan** – Saintly departed. Deceased.

**Bibitte tête** – Dick head (basically)


	76. De'pouille

**Okay, with twenty-two lovely reviews from lovely people, some old and some new, I can't reply to all of them in this chapter, but you didn't come here to hear me blather on, did you? Just know that I love and respect each and everyone of you and that I appreciate your support in this silly fanfiction. It makes bad days go a little smoother when you give me review love. ^_^  
**

**Anyways, I did my best to be medically accurate (I did a lot of research to be as accurate as I could which is half the reason why this chapter took so long...the other half being Game of Thrones, but you don't want to hear about that adventure), but without taking six years of med school and becoming a doctor, I can't be exactly spot on. However, I did my best, so there you have it.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Six: De'pouille**

****Rick****

"The bullet struck his spleen, nicked it, explains all the blood loss," Herschel explained. "We didn't find a bite mark on him, but that don't mean he won't go into cardiac arrest on us."

Milling about Daryl's bedside, Rick, Michonne, Glenn and Merle were plotting their next move based on the hunter's condition.

"Will he survive?"

"Hard to say, he needs a lot more blood then we gave him from Sister Mary Elizabeth."

"Actually," Milton interjected from where he was organizing the medical tools available to them for the surgery. "I read in a medical journal that if he has enough blood, we can supplement more of it with saline solution. Enough to keep his heart pumping at least, as long as there's over seventy percent more blood in his system."

"Okay, we brought back some medical equipment from Logistics, it'll still be in the church, go see what if you have what you'll need, Herschel, you let us know if you need something that isn't there?"

The old man frowned. "Rick…I don't hold much hope for his survival. I can attempt to repair the spleen, but I'm no surgeon and if I get in there and it's bad, I can remove it, but he'll be prone to all kinds of infections without his spleen. That is if he survives the surgery."

Rick scowled. "Yeah, well, you have to try. There's no giving up hope on him, you understand me?"

"Of course, Rick, I'll give it my all, I just want you prepared for the worst." With that Herschel turned and hobbled off as fast as he could.

Turning to the others, Rick eyed them for a moment. "We're going to break up our best men into two teams, one will head for the mall, get it ready in case the Lieutenant actually convinces the Governor to go there, the other will head to Woodbury."

"Why?" Glenn asked.

"If the Lieutenant doesn't convince the Governor to head to the mall, we'll need to go in and get him."

"If he's still alive," Michonne purred.

"We aren't going down that road, yet," Rick stated. "I want you and Merle to head up the team to Woodbury. If things go South," Rick paused, glancing over at Milton who was quietly watching them.

Shifting in a little closer to Michonne, Rick sighed. "If things get bad, you don't hesitate. This ends today."

"Who do you want us to take?" Merle asked. "We don't have a lot of guns for hire to spare, Officer Friendly."

"I'll go," Carol offered from her place by Daryl's bedside.

"Carol—"

"I'm good with a gun, Rick, and you need the fire power," she said. "There's not much I can do here, but sit and drive myself insane waiting."

"Carol, this isn't going to be walkers you'll be killing if you have to," Rick objected.

"I know," she said, eyes watery. "But you said it yourself, it ends today."

Glancing from Carol to Daryl's pale body lying prone in the infirmary bed, Rick scuffed his boot against the floor, hands on his hips, before he nodded. "Okay, Merle, you and Michonne take Carol and head to Woodbury. Try to be inconspicuous, if that fails—"

"End it," Michonne growled, pushing past him, heading for the door.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

___******************..-~-..**_

"Glenn, you gather the others, anyone who's willing to fight, we're heading for the mall as soon as we can," Rick commanded as they strolled across the lawns. "We need as much firepower as we can get. We need to load as much ammo as possible, but make sure Merle and Michonne and Carol have enough as well."

"Sure."

Pausing, Rick clamped a hand on Glenn's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "This'll end," he said.

Glenn blinked up at him. "I don't really care anymore."

One fire at a time, Rick reminded himself, offering Glenn a quiet, studious look, before allowing the younger man to continue on to gather weapons.

Heading for the church, he tasted the rain in the air. The day started off so hot and humid, he knew it was just readying itself for a cool spring rain.

Quietly he stepped into the church, weaving around supplies that had been stacked there, moving through the narrow rows of boxes and pews, reaching the front where a single figure sat alone.

As he passed by Herschel who was going through the medical supplies, the old man stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

"We have some saline," he said. "But we may need more anti-biotics, especially if someone else comes back injured."

Rick squinted. "For now, Daryl gets everything he needs, the others will just have to hope and wait until we can find more medical supplies."

Herschel nodded.

"You keep him alive at any cost, Herschel," Rick said. "I need him alive."

"We all want him to live, Rick," the man said. "But the options are limited."

"I have faith in you, old man."

Snorting, Herschel nodded. "Keep calling me old and we'll see how you do next time you're under my knife."

Rick nodded. "Let's hope that never comes."

The old man nodded, limping off with his supplies tucked into a khaki bag he must have found among the supplies from the Marine base.

Approaching the woman in the front of the church, Rick cleared his throat.

"We're heading out," he greeted softly.

Grace turned shining blue-green eyes on him, in her arms Judith kicked and squirmed at her feet Annie sat with Boo the dog, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. "May God be with you, Mr. Grimes."

Shifting on his feet, Rick glanced over at Christ on the cross, gazing into the painted plaster eyes of the man, before turning back to the woman. "We'll bring him back."

"Do you have enough people? I suppose you're shorthanded now," she said, ignoring his words.

"We'll do fine," he said. "Always better fighting when the odds are against us." He shifted on his feet again. "We'll bring him back to you, Grace."

"Just don't do anything foolish for him, Rick," the woman returned. "He wouldn't like anyone to sacrifice themselves for his sake."

Taking once last look at Christ, Rick sighed heavily and nodded. "Be careful while we're gone," he said. "You see anyone unfamiliar creeping up, you don't hesitate."

"I understand."

"Bye, Mr. Rick," Annie chirped. "I love you."

Smiling, Rick nodded. "You listen to Grace," he said. "Now more than ever, okay sweetheart?"

The little girl nodded. "Will the Lieutenant be coming home with you?"

"Merle, Michonne and Carol will be bringing him home," Rick said. "Be a good girl."

"I will," the little girl hopped up to her feet and scurried off.

Kneeling Rick pressed a kiss to Judith's forehead, before rising and giving Grace one last goodbye nod, he turned and started walking off.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****Carol****

She was used to feeling powerless.

Her entire life seemed to be comprised of her standing outside herself, watching it go by like someone watching I Love Lucy on the television.

There was a lot of debate over destiny versus choice, but at times there was no choice.

Standing beside the bed where Herschel and Milton were preparing Daryl for his surgery, all she felt she could do was watch.

Nothing she did would bring him back, heal him, make him better, stronger.

So she did what she was good at doing, removing herself from the situation, standing by while things unfolded, idly toying with the wooden rose that rested heavily on her breastbone.

"He was always a tough little shit," Merle grunted from her side. "He'll fight, always does."

Carol eyed the older Dixon brother quietly, unsure how to respond to that.

"Hell, bar fight back home, some fat head from the local mill popped him one in the skull, knocked him out for a week, had him hooked up to all kinds of tubes," Merle chuckled, but somehow didn't crack a grin. "Daryl wakes up, gets out of his hospital bed, goes to take a piss, then checks himself out of the hospital. Quacks there trying to convince him that he literally cracked his skull, but Daryl threatens to knock their nose into their brainpan, gets signed out reluctantly, tracks the little mill pig fucker to his place of work and breaks his jaw." Merle smiled then. "Cops threw him in the county lock up, he curled up and went to sleep for another two days straight, they took him back to the hospital."

"Did he spend a long time in jail for it?" Carol asked.

"Nah, one thing the mill asshole knew was if you start shit, it'll come back around and catch you in the ass." Merle turned from his brother. "You ready to head out, sister?"

She nodded. "Give me a moment, okay?"

"Sure, we'll be waiting."

Walking towards the bed, she tried to keep out of the way of Herschel and Milton as they injected some saline into Daryl.

Stooping over, she pressed a kiss to his temple, reminded of a moment nearly a year ago when he was laid up in a recovery bed, only then he was alert enough to growl at her like the mean dog he liked to think he was.

Grabbing his cool hand in hers, she eyed his face, putting it to memory in case she didn't get a chance to see it tinted with the subtle colours of life again.

Reaching down, she stroked his mole with her thumb and smiled. She always thought it was kind of sexy on him, but never told him, unsure how he'd react to her saying something so odd.

Leaning down once more, she kissed him on the lips, rubbing her cheek against the rough stubble of his chin, sliding her lips close to his ear.

"Come back to me," she whispered softly. "You give me strength and I'm no good without strength in this world."

Pulling away, she looked down at him. He looked so young, so vulnerable.

That fierce protective spirit fired up her blood and she felt a tear roll down her cheek as her vision blurred with more tears to follow.

Leaning down again, she whispered, "I need you to fight, for me." She sniffled as her quiet crying caused her nose to run a little. "I've never asked much of you. At least I hope I didn't. But I'm asking you to do this for me, please? Just fight and don't stop fighting."

She eyed his face, looking for a response, but there was nothing.

Sniffling again, she reluctantly pulled away, straightening her spine.

Over Daryl's body, her eyes met Milton Mamet's and she found a startling amount of sympathy in them that she wasn't expecting.

He offered her the faintest of smiles as he hooked up the electronic equipment they had taken from the base to the cords that had been brought in from the generator outside the infirmary door.

Taking one last look at Daryl, she touched her Cherokee rose again, before turning away from him. She wasn't the best fighter, but with Daryl out, she knew she had to do him proud at least. Someone had to be the ass kicker with him down and she wanted to give it her all.

___******************..-~-..**_

* * *

_____******************..-~-..**_

****Noah****

It had been ten minutes since the last of the Governor's men left. An hour and some since the man himself left the clinic wiping blood off his hands and throwing something down the hall.

It had been a set of dog tags that he had thrown.

The young man had gone to retrieve them, curious about why the Governor would take them only to throw them away.

If the man inside the clinic was a terrorist, maybe the Governor didn't want him to be identified.

Still, it seemed odd to him.

Turning the flat, white metal pieces of ID over in his hand, he studied them quietly.

His mother and he had found Woodbury after a month of running, they didn't see a single soldier during all that running, no police, no authority of any kind.

He thought about the man inside the clinic.

The Marine, Shumpert said he was. A Lieutenant, officer, higher up, someone who worked to climb the ladder.

Figuring you didn't get far in the military without being capable of what you did, Noah wondered about how bad the man could have been. He did kill Justin and Clarence, but the man claimed it was self-defence. Well, Clarence and Justin scared him anyways, they seemed like they might have been crackheads or something before the biters. They were both big and mean and his mom told him to never listen to a word they said.

The Governor said there'd be a fair trial for the man.

But the blood was probably from the gunshot wound to the soldier's shoulder.

Jangling the tags, Noah shouldered his rifle and eyed the door to the clinic.

The soldier should at least keep his dog tags, he decided. Dead or alive, the man deserved one last act of respect, even if he was a killer.

Cautiously opening the clinic door, he peeked inside.

On the surgical table the Marine was strapped, still, quiet.

Eyeing the pool of blood that was gathering beneath him, Noah licked his lips, cautiously approaching.

As he drew near he spied a pair of small surgical scissors sticking out of the man's throat and a half sewn bullet wound to his shoulder, the fishing line and needle still dangling from it, both were trickling blood slowly onto the floor, though the neck wound was dripping a little more than the half closed shoulder wound.

Noah grimaced, holding the back of his hand to his mouth. He didn't really like blood much, it always reminded him of his dad.

The scissors didn't look like much of a fair trial or a merciful death. For a moment Noah panicked, what if what his mom had said was right, what if there was something off about the Governor. Hell, she said it herself, he smiled too much for a man in the middle of a sea of biters.

Approaching the still form of the soldier, Noah licked his bottom lip, reaching out slowly, despite the fact that the man was strapped securely to the table, he was still afraid.

It wasn't much of an honourable death for a man who served to protect them and their country. It seemed almost like something from a forensics crime show.

Placing the dog tags on the man's chest, the young man tilted his head as beneath the metal ID tags, the chest of the corpse rose and he took a ragged breath.

Thinking the man had turned already, Noah's eyes tore up to scan the man's face, expecting milky eyes of a biter.

He found hazy grey eyes staring back at him.

"Aidez-moi." The man croaked.

Twisting his upper lip at the scissors that still remained imbedded in the man's neck, Noah took a step away, foot slipping in the blood.

"Jesus!" He exclaimed as he flailed backwards, slamming against the cupboards behind him, head smashing against the edge.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**De'pouille** – Something or someone that's a mess.

**Aidez-moi** - Help me.


	77. Avalasse

**I'm going to keep this short (so many lovely reviews again). Let me just say to all my readers, reviewers, followers and those who have put this story in my favourites, if it wasn't for you supporting this story it wouldn't have gone beyond the first two or three chapters. You've all be very wonderful, lovely people and I want to thank you from the very bottom of my squidgy little heart.**

**(P.S. - Brazen Hussy - probably one of my most favourite bits from the Monty Python movies was the 'bring out your dead' bit, right after the UFO/You lucky bastard scene in Life of Brian.)**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Seven: Avalasse**

****Merle****

"The Governor has eight men who are like his dogs at his beck and call," he said as they tore down the highway in one of the trucks, crammed together in the cab, Carol between Merle and Michonne. "Martinez, Shumpert, Clarence, Justin, Pascal, Sharon, Miller and Novak" he listed them off. "If ol' Phil hasn't left for the mall, these are the men you need to watch out for."

"One woman," Michonne purred.

"Novak has tits too, calm yours down," Merle growled.

"What kind of guns can we expect on the wall?" Carol asked.

"Depends, if Phil took the bait and left, if the Lieutenant had time to give him the bait before they dumped him, then we can assume that—"

"Dumped him?" Carol asked. "You don't think he's alive."

"No. Phil'll be over cautious now, he won't risk another 'terrorist' infiltration, plus the man's mad as a coonhound foaming at the mouth." Merle glanced over at her from his seat on the passenger's side. "Sorry if that isn't what you want to hear."

"Then why are we going if you think he's dead?" Michonne asked.

"Because while I think there's a good chance he's dead, I'm not one to underestimate the crafty nature of a coonass," Merle replied. "Might be dead, might not be dead. Couldn't hurt to poke around for him, least we can do is drag his corpse home to his nun."

"Never took you for a romantic, Merle," Michonne growled.

The man beamed at them. "During times of war a man's heart always seeks out the promise of a happy ending and this time I ain't talking about the one that comes at the end of a twenty dollar rub down."

"That could have been such a nice sentiment to take with me to the grave," Michonne replied.

"Nah," Merle grunted. "Today isn't your day, brown sugar. We'll all get back home before dark."

"Never took you for an optimist, Merle," Carol said softly.

The older Dixon brother eyed her quietly for the longest time, before growling. "Ain't no one dying today, but the Governor and his boys."

Carol turned her shining, wide eyes on him and he sneered a little in response, because it wasn't fear or pity or even rejection he saw in her eyes, but that same glimmer she looked at his baby brother with.

Merle wasn't sure how he felt being held up in the light like some kind of shining do-gooder. It may have been his baby brother's gig to play, but he didn't like being relied on so heavily.

So he grunted, clearing his throat and turned to face the window. "You two drive a bullet into any asshole who comes at you with a gun," he said. "And if you come across any booze at Woodbury, it's got property of Merle Dixon stamped on it's ass end."

At the end of the day, if he was still alive, he was going to get shitfaced drunk and make a pass at anything with curves just to prove to himself that he wasn't a little fucking punk assed bitch like Daryl.

Fucking hot dog lying in that bed.

"Jesus," he cursed, not so much angry at his brother, but angry at the situation.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Carl****

His father left him in charge.

A pat on his head, a quick 'take care of your sister' and he was gone.

Despite his protests that he could help, despite everything he had proved to his dad about being capable, he was still stuck behind to watch over the others like some shepherd watching over a flock of sheep.

Pacing on the wall, rejected and pissed off, Carl eyed the surrounding woods, glaring at them.

Glancing down the wall toward the corner where Sister Joan was standing, Carl scuffed his shoe against the stone of the wall. If no one came back, they'd be fine, he'd take over from his dad. Maybe that was why he had been left behind.

He took a quick look towards the infirmary where Sister Mary Claire was scurrying back towards the campfire for more hot water and clean linens for bandages, Carl winced at the blood on her hands.

Watching the woman as she quickly gripped the kettle and a new batch of linens, he breathed easy as she hurried back towards the infirmary.

Daryl was still alive, but Herschel was still in surgery with him.

Carl didn't know how much blood a person could lose before they died, but Daryl had lost a lot apparently and Sister Mary Elizabeth was on standby to donate what little more she could give in the event they needed it.

At the gate Father O'Rourke stood with Sister Mary Agnes passing near on the wall and Carl sighed.

The only people he hadn't seen for a while was Grace, his sister, Annie and Andrea, everyone else was pulling wall duty or helping with the surgery.

He assumed Andrea was sitting with Grace, keeping her company as the woman watched over Judith and Annie in Carol's absence.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Noah****

His head was throbbing and he felt dizzy, but it wasn't until he was halfway to fetching his mother that he faltered.

Maybe he shouldn't.

The Governor intended the Marine to die, if he returned and found him still alive, he didn't know what would happen, but this was the first time he was entrusted with a rifle and placed with the men.

Noah's feet stopped their hectic pace at the edge of the sidewalk, the toes of his dirty sneakers peeking over the edge.

He glanced over at the wall, holding the back of his head where the lump he got from the counter was forming.

The men and women on the wall, at the gate, they were held in such honourable positions at Woodbury and he thought for a moment how cool it'd be to be one of those men. Protecting Woodbury.

He always wanted to join the army as a boy, but his asthma put a kink in all of his dreams. He couldn't play sports like the other kids without needing to stop now and then for a huff from his inhaler, it got to the point where the coach strongly advised his mother that maybe sports wasn't for her son.

And his mother, the ever cautious, protective woman that she was, listened.

But things were different.

Thinking of the army, Noah envisioned the Marine on the table in the clinic, dying from a pair of scissors to his throat and took a step off the sidewalk, heading for his mother once more.

He didn't like to think of it as going to mommy for help, but she'd know best what to do.

God help anyone who accused him of that.

Bursting into the old laundry mat where a few of the others were doing laundry on machines hooked up to the Woodbury generators, he paused to take in the eyes that looked up at him in shock, forcing himself to calm down, marching towards his mom.

"Noah?" She said. "I thought you were watching the prisoner."

He glanced about, a few of the Woodbury residents seemed interested in their conversation, so he grabbed gentle hold of his mom, tugging her out into the street with him, her basket of laundry still in hand.

"Noah?" She protested.

"Mom," he said. "You have to help me."

"Do what?" She demanded. "Stop pulling me."

He released her. "Just come with me, okay?"

Frowning, she nodded, setting her laundry basket down on the street and hurrying after him.

Eyeing the two at the gate, Noah made sure they were still looking outwards for oncoming threats, ushering his mother into the clinic and racing down the hall towards the room with the Marine.

Stepping aside, he presented the soldier to her nervously.

The man was breathing, but they were ragged and erratic breaths, blood still trickling out of his throat wound, around the scissors.

"Jesus," his mother muttered, hand to her mouth. "Who did this?"

"The Governor, he just…he left him like this, mom. What do we do?"

Stepping towards the man on the table, Karen touched a hand to his bare stomach gently, feeling it rise beneath her touch. "Go get Barbara Douglas."

"Mom she's, like, eighty."

"And she was an ER nurse for forty of those eighty years, go!" His mother ordered.

Nodding, Noah turned and raced off again. He didn't know where he'd find Mrs. Douglas, but he knew where to start looking. She liked to feed the birds behind the old town hall sometimes, even though no one liked that she did that as the birds shit everywhere.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Rick****

There would be no pre-war speeches.

He wasn't Patton and the Governor most certainly wasn't going to get the dignity of being referred to as a war criminal.

The man was a beast, an animal, basically he was an asshole who liked to take things. A schoolyard bully who suffered from nearly all seven of the deadly sins.

The caravan of two military trucks tore down the Georgian highway, the mall coming in sight quicker than he expected, not used to measuring time now that they drove however the hell fast it took.

He slowed cautiously, worried that the Governor had arrived before them, hoping that they had enough time, that the Lieutenant actually had time to send the Governor their way.

Seemed hope was a bigger player in their lives than he thought.

Finding no evidence of any life at the mall, Rick pulled the trucks up to the front. He gave them twenty minutes to clear out the remaining walkers, to unload the missiles, to set up the explosives which would trigger them.

Twenty minutes didn't seem like enough time, but it would have to do.

But they still couldn't get sloppy.

Stepping out of the truck cautiously as the first few spittles of rain peppered the pavement at his feet, Rick moved around to the back of the military truck, opening and pulling the tailgate down.

"We have twenty minutes," he said as the others gathered.

Pulling out a crate of explosive devices, he handed them off to Sasha, as Glenn and Alan took out a few walkers who were heading their way.

"Be careful," he went on, handing off another crate to Beth. It was her first real time out and he promised Herschel he'd take care of her, Beth wanted to help and Herschel wanted him to have the extra pair of hands, though Rick understood the man's displeasure at the idea, he was grateful Herschel tamped it down for the occasion.

"Stay in pairs," Rick went on, motioning Glenn over to help him with one of the moving dollies to load a missile onto it for easier, smoother transport, while Alan and Tyreese kept lookout for the Governor or walkers. "It's ending today," he went on. "Kill anything that comes at you, gun or no. We don't take prisoners from the armed Woodbury men."

"Rick?" Tyreese asked, confirming if he heard right.

"No prisoners. These armed men are the enemy we need to kill."

The black man looked unsure, but nodded after a moment.

"Be alert," he repeated to Sasha as she returned for another load.

When they were scouting the mall the first time around they had cleared it out, it was only a tiny outlet type mall, but he didn't want them to get comfortable thinking it was walker free.

Ensuring Tyreese and Alan were still on watch, he grabbed an armload of supplies and headed inside himself, handing them off to Beth and she moved down the dim hall after Glenn and the missile.

Stepping back outside, he eyed his surroundings for threats as the spitting rain began to pelt down on them. They'd have to move the trucks before the dry spots gave them away when the Governor and his men arrived.

Just one more reason they needed to hurry.

Moving to the back of the second truck, just as a blonde head popped up and Andrea, still with her crutches and cast, struggled to get out.

Rick stepped back, hand on his gun.

"Jesus," he cursed at her.

"I want to help," she insisted. "You need all the guns you can get."

Glancing over at Tyreese and Alan who were both as surprised as he was, Rick leaned in close to Andrea to hissed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Look, I'm not here to talk, okay, you want to kill Philip, fine. But you need the help."

"You can barely walk," he growled. Seeing that they didn't have time for her shit, he sighed heavily.

"I can limp on my foot, okay? Look," she tossed the crutches away. "No crutches."

Rick watched as she painfully, stubbornly hobbled about, proving she was fine to walk.

"We're not carrying your ass," he snarled. "You want to tag along, hide in the back of our trucks, fine. But I'm not risking my ass for yours, got it?"

"I'm not a child, Rick. I know my limits, and I can help here." She stated. "For God's sake if you're going to kill people to protect our group, then shouldn't you have as many hands as you can get carrying rifles?"

Reaching into the truck, he pulled out a box, somehow a little pleased that it was heavier than the others and handed it off to her.

"Carry this inside," he commanded. "Alan, you go with her."

The man nodded, taking another box on his way past.

Rick exchanged a glance with Tyreese, running his hand over his face. It was already slick with the rain.

"I don't know about you, but if I live to see the night, I'm getting loaded." Tyreese said.

Rick scoffed. "Now there's an idea I can get behind."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Avalasse** - Downpour


	78. Fréquenter

**Jack And Honey - I do enjoy Merle's blunt way of putting things.**

**Guest - I always enjoy a mysterious Guest review. ^_^ Thanks for it.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Yeah, like the guy in the pink bunny suit is going to scare a girl wearing a $7 pair of PJ bottom's into saving a character? Come on! (Only funny if you watch Arrested Development) ^_^**

**Merle's Right Hand - You'll get my AD joke. I trust you to laugh. ^_^**

**peonies01 - I have a soft spot for Merle accepting Carol as a member of the Dixon clan.**

**HGRHfan35 - You read my mind...if they both survive, I can totally see them sitting there bickering...well Daryl would be bickering, the Lt. would probably just be egging him on.**

**laura - You're very welcome. ^_^**

**itsi3 - Bubbitty? Is that English? O_o Thanks for the review! XD**

**GG - Yes, it's a flurry of excitement is it? Don't worry, from here on out the chapters go by group scenes, so...it should be a lot easier to read.**

**Brazen Hussy - Yeah, she's a real peach, isn't she?**

**Lilone1776 - Haha, taking a belt of grandma's old cough medicine huh? Classy. ^_^**

**Aphrodite2 - I agree, I feel that way about so many shows that won't be back until the fall now.**

**Ms Q - I agree. We need to blow his ass up...we didn't get that satisfaction yet.**

**basically-a-fangirl - Haha, I'm glad you caught that. I sometimes like to slip things into the story that amuse only me, but it's nice to know you were amused as well. (For some reason I seriously think Merle would think that of Daryl...like if he's not pulling his weight and just lying there like a piece of meat, he'd think of him as a hot dog).**

**Surplus Imagination - Nothing is ever easy, is it? Even though it seems that way. There's always a 'but'.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Eight: Fréquenter**

****Carol****

They parked the truck far enough away from Woodbury that they could safely approach it without arousing suspicion.

Merle was leading them, though Carol kept a close eye on Michonne, she heard the woman had a penchant for wandering off to deal with things on her own and with Merle looking for blood for his brother, Carol didn't want to be left holding the proverbial bag on her own.

The oldest Dixon had explained to them earlier that it was probably in their best interests to try and sneak into Woodbury through the East side, where the brick buildings hid the narrow alley from those at the gate, where no one patrolled due to the wall being higher.

Michonne had growled out a question about how they were expected to scale the wall if it was high and Merle ignored her with a smug grin.

Gripping her rifle tighter as they approached the East wall quietly through the woods, she struggled to crouch, the bag with extra ammo heavy on her back.

Merle had an extra rifle slung on his back his remaining hand empty in case he needed his pistol, Michonne wore her sword on her back, so Carol was left wearing the pack with the spare ammo.

She didn't mind the weight, it just made crouching and moving awkward for her. She wasn't used to the military part of their daily life.

"Alright, you two hole up here for a bit," Merle whispered.

"Why? Where are you going?" Carol demanded.

"I'm going to sneak around the front, get a good idea if the Governor's inside or not."

"How?" Michonne asked.

Merle blinked at her. "Polite inquiries," he stated, before a broad grin broke his sombre feature.

Carol chanced a glance at Michonne and found her glaring at the man as he scurried off into the woods, leaving them behind.

"Do we follow him?" She asked.

Michonne shook her head once, but didn't look happy about him leaving them.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

It felt like an hour before he returned, Michonne had dispatched two walkers quietly as they waited, but when he finally moved back to their position, he was grinning widely.

"We're in luck," he greeted softly, "we got the Woodbury equivalent of Beavis and Butthead on the gate."

"Which means?" Michonne growled.

"Which means, brown sugar, daddy ain't home and he took all his best gunslingers with him on the road. He only puts those two jokes on the gate when he's out of options."

"So? What kind of threat are we looking at?" Carol asked.

"Other than a few armed civilians, which may or may not know how to use the guns given them and some fairly rowdy seniors, we probably have a pretty clear shot of pulling this off without coming under fire."

"And how are we going to get over that wall, redneck?" Michonne asked.

Merle beamed at her. "Jesus, good question." He turned to eye the wall. "Well, only one thing to do." Stepping forward he took hold of a piece of the plywood that had been used to make some kind of barrier with his remaining hand, he pulled with brute strength. It didn't give, but as soon as Michonne and Carol moved to help it, it began to give, pulling away from the outer wooden fence nails and all.

Behind the plywood, they came face to face with an inner chainlink fence and Merle eyed it for a moment, before grabbing hold with his hand and hauling himself up it.

Carol followed second as Merle reached the top and scrambled over gracelessly, his lack of two hands making it a little hard for him to dismount the fence like a pro.

Swinging her leg up and over the top, she scurried down the other side and waited as Michonne followed them.

Once on the other side, they hurried to press against the back wall of a brick building, in the event someone strolled behind the main street of Woodbury.

"Alright," Merle whispered. "There are three places the Cajun would be, the clinic, the arena holding cells or in the incinerator."

Carol drew her mouth in a grim line, but nodded. "Let's check the clinic first."

"Good thinking, sister," Merle smirked. "Wishful thinking, but good enough, follow me and behave yourselves, right, brown sugar?" He winked at Michonne.

The woman blinked at him.

"I'm not the one who has a thirst for blood," she purred.

Merle scoffed. "Are you so sure about that, sweetheart?"

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Noah****

By the time he returned with Mrs. Douglas, he was beginning to feel that familiar tightness in his chest and had to stoop over in the doorway of the clinic to wheeze deeply in the hopes of getting back his breath.

Mrs. Douglas hurried over to the table with his mother, as Karen shot her son a concerned glance.

"Calm down, Noah, remember to breathe deep," she coached as Noah continued to wheeze.

"What happened here?" Mrs. Douglas asked, immediately touching a hand to the soldier's throat on the side that didn't have the scissors, feeling for a pulse.

She was one of those prim old women who had perfectly coiffed hair, didn't matter if it was the end of the world, she was always immaculate and neat. But she also looked like a good wind would turn her to dust, her head wobbled on her shoulders like a bobblehead and her hands shook something fierce.

"The Governor's fair trial, I'm guessing," Karen said. "What do we do?"

"Mom," Noah gasped, "maybe we shouldn't…he'll get mad when he comes back."

"Noah," his mother warned. "I raised you better than that."

"I've never seen anything like this," Mrs. Douglas said. "They missed the spinal cord, they missed the windpipe, they must have missed the jugular. There's only a very, very small area where those scissors could be stuck in that wouldn't cause serious damage."

Puffing, Noah finally calmed enough to join them, still forcing deep breaths. "What do we do, then?"

"We have to remove the scissors," Mrs, Douglas said. "My hands shake too badly, you can remove them, Karen."

"How?"

"When you pull them out, pull them out slow and straight, if they missed his jugular, then you don't want to nick it on the way out, just hold on though. Noah, cut that needle and fishing line on his shoulder, we'll need it for his neck. How long has he been like this?"

"About two hours," Noah said.

"The scissors are stopping a lot of the blood loss," Mrs. Douglas said. "This boy is lucky."

Retrieving the needle and fishing line, Noah approached the old woman with them.

"You think I'm in any shape to stitch?" She demanded. "Give them to your mother, she'll do it, you remove the scissors."

Noah moved to stand beside his mom, handing her the needle.

"Once the scissors are out, Noah, drop them and place your hand just there and put pressure until your mother is done stitching, I'll walk you through everything."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Merle****

Using the back entrance, they kept low and hurried through the dark halls.

The 'clinic' had once been just some office building, a realtor's office or something like that, but they had moved in all the medical equipment they took from a nearby hospital to serve their purpose.

No one ever entered the building without being broken or bloody.

They moved slowly.

While the two most useless gun-toters were put on the gate, Merle wasn't sure who was left behind with the Cajun or if the Cajun was even there.

For all he knew could be any number of Woodbury residents in the clinic.

Creeping up to the room where they usually kept the injured, he slowed down, gun out and ready for a confrontation.

"That's it, just keep a steady pressure there. Make sure the stitches are close together, you don't want those ones coming loose."

Moving to press himself against the wall beside the open door, Merle slowly peeked around the doorframe into the room.

He spied Mrs. Douglas standing over the Cajun's body, Karen and her son Noah there as well doing something to the man.

Pulling his head back he pondered his options. He could bust in on them now, but it looked like they were giving the Lieutenant medical aid, so he decided to wait it out.

He gave Carol and Michonne the hold signal and they knelt beside him, taking up roots until he gave the OK.

The thing about Woodbury that both worried and pissed him off was how easy it had always been to infiltrate the place.

Phil's hubris blinded him to the fact that his home was left virtually unprotected, the people inside it had no idea how to protect themselves, because they always had harder men and women with guns to do that for them.

Hell, he'd wager he could stroll out into the main street and the only ones who'd take shots at him were the two left at the gate with the guns.

Glancing into the room again, Merle scowled at the three hovering over the Lieutenant's body and made a quick decision, setting his pistol on the ground and standing up.

He commanded the other two to stay behind, before he stepped into the doorway and into the open.

Slowly he approached them.

Noah was the one to glance up and finding him standing there, his eyes widened.

Merle stuck his hands up to show he was unarmed.

"Mr. Dixon?" Noah asked.

He had everyone's attention now, but his own gaze was on the pale Cajun lying on the table, a pool of blood beneath him. His chest was rising and falling, which was always a good sign in his mind.

"I don't want no trouble," Merle said. "I just came for him."

Seeing as no one was making a move for any kind of weapon, Merle put his hands down and moved in closer.

Karen went back to stitching the Cajun under Mrs. Douglas' careful instruction.

"He one of yours then?" Karen demanded.

"Yeah."

"He shot two of our men," she went on.

"And you seem to be trying to patch him up," Merle replied.

"The Governor promises a fair trial," she growled. "Does this look like one to you?"

"No."

"You know what he is, don't you?" She went on. "It's why you left?"

"I hear you're all having some hunger pangs," he ignored her question. "Why would that be? Haven't I taught you anything?"

"How to drink and make lewd comments at women," Mrs. Douglas replied. "Other than that I don't recall you being very open with your knowledge, Mr. Dixon."

Merle beamed at the woman. "They haven't put your dry old ass in the ground yet?"

"Unfortunately for you," she replied.

"If you were sixty years younger I might put you in the running," he replied. "I like a woman with a sass mouth."

"If I were sixty years younger I'd slap you," the old woman shot back. "But if I do that now I might break my wrist."

"You shouldn't be here, Merle." Karen stated. "If I had a gun and a free hand it'd be trained on you."

"I like old woman Douglas' sass better, less real threat of bodily harm," he replied. "He gonna live?"

"He should, got real lucky though."

"I see that. Coonass luck."

"Are you back for good, Mr. Dixon?" Noah asked.

"Hell no, this rat knows when to abandon a sinking ship."

Glancing up for confirmation of a job well done from Mrs. Douglas, Karen stepped back from the Cajun, wiping her hands on the thighs of her jeans. "If we let you walk out with the man, what will the Governor do to my son? He was supposed to be on watch."

"Oh, I don't know, what's he like these days?"

When no one said anything, Merle stooped to look Karen in the eye.

"Stench of a madman clinging to him?" He inquired. "Bet you're all living in silent fear. Can't run, got nowhere to run to, can't kill him, he's got his dogs. What does a pack of soft, weak willed Woodbury residents do?"

The woman didn't say anything, but he could tell his words sunk in.

She turned to the cabinet behind her for more gauze and medical tape.

Merle turned his eyes on Mrs. Douglas who stood by quietly, head wagging, before he took in Noah who was pale and silent.

"You want a place to go?" He asked.

"Be with your prison group?" Karen scoffed as she folded a piece of gauze to tape over the Cajun's wound. "The terrorists?"

Finding all eyes on him, Merle sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Fine, you want me to impart some wisdom? Here's a little something," he motioned to the gauze she was using with his blade arm. "That gauze you're using, came from a group of five survivors we found holed up in the hospital. Philip ordered me and the other men to gun them down and we took everything they had squirreled away. Didn't even hesitate. That Marine on the table, he didn't belong to the prison group, he came from a group that took ours in, no questions asked. The sisters, the nuns, gave us food and shelter and protection, they didn't worry that we could march in and take what they had, they were honestly trying to provide sanctuary. That soldier there, he saved me and my brother's sorry asses, dragged us for a mile on a makeshift stretcher, didn't even hesitate. If you're worried about the prison group being terrorists, then just know that the man there, he's probably the last person left alive in the world who'd lay down his life for yours and your son and old sour-puss over there. This Marine was the only one who stood up for you lot, he didn't want us to just come in here guns blazing, because he still thinks he has to protect the innocent. If he shot your men, then it was self-defence and believe me, the dumb ass will feel bad about it, but for now all you have to do is just let me walk out with him."

Karen set the gauze down, moving to finish stitching his shoulder.

"Hell, I don't want any trouble," Merle said. "I owe a lot to this group." He winced. "If you tell anyone that I'll deny it, but…this is still the group I feel responsible for. Now you're trying to save this man's life, that makes you responsible for it. Are you going to let ol' Phil come back and take it in another botched, undignified way? Or are you going to just let us walk away?" He figured it didn't help to put their cards on the table about the ambush, just in case ol' Phil came out victorious.

Karen's hand stilled. "If I let you walk away, you take Noah with you."

"Mom—"

"The Governor will think that the soldier kidnapped him, he'll be safe from punishment," Karen said.

"You can come too," Merle said.

"I need to stay here," she argued. "They need me here. If the Governor is really losing it, I need to be here to help them."

"Don't be so stupid," Mrs. Douglas said. "The people here are useless, they'll just run you into the ground. You go with your boy, I'll slap them back into shape around here. It's about time they started listening to me for once."

Merle smirked.

"You swear your people will take us in?" Karen demanded of him. "We'll be safe?"

"Well, you'll be safe, but you're both going to have to start getting your hands dirty in the real world."

"I'm not worried about that." She replied, the remaining blood on her hands a testament to that.

Setting her hand on the Cajun's rising and falling stomach, Karen took a good, long think, her eyes focused on nothing.

"You know, a lot of people around here always said you couldn't be trusted," she finally said.

Merle grinned. "But I have such an honest face," he replied. "It's handsome too so that's a bonus."

Karen glanced over at her son.

"Okay," she said. "We'll go with you. But you better hope you're on the level."

"Which way did you come in?" Mrs. Douglas asked.

"Over the East wall," he said.

"Well you're not dragging that poor soldier over it, going to have to find a better way out," she replied.

"You're all sorts of helpful today, aren't you?" He demanded.

She smiled. "What? You thought you were just going to toss his body up and over?"

"In all honesty I wasn't expecting to find him alive enough to care," he replied.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Fréquenter** – To be a regular visitor to a place. To visit a place often.


	79. Gris

**Brazen Hussy - More of that beautiful bastard in this chapter! Enjoy!**

**Whooptiedoo - Oh, gosh, thanks. I appreciate that you pick up on the subtleties. Thank you very much for the review!**

**Merle's Right Hand - Perfection? One word? What kind of a review is that? You lazy toad...(you know I love you, babes...)**

**peonies01 - I know. Merle had such potential as a character. Bah! BAH! I say!**

**itsi3 - Trying! ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**Brooklyn'sRoisinDubh - I know. Daryl's 'surgery' is taking quite long, isn't it, though? Yikes.**

**HGRHfan35 - BBQ? Delicious! You sound like you eat like royalty...I want your life. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - I know. Merle is growing up, isn't it adorable. He's like a scruffy, drunk, mean baby becoming a toddler.**

**Lilone1776 - I miss Merle on the show. I really do. Bummed.**

**GG - ****She does seem like she has a lot she could teach. Maybe take an apprentice in, teach them her medical knowledge before she passes.**

**RainthelingeringSentiment - Oh wow, I'm flattered. You are such a kind human being. I like Italian food, btw. Just in case. ;D**

**Ms Q - Gosh, being that they're in a clinic I would hope things would be sterile than if they were doing this on a battlefield or something, but I do see your point about the anti-biotics.**

**basically-a-fangirl - Wonderful! I'm glad you enjoy this story so much! Thank you for the sweet review! I think the show could use a Cajun...but then again I think a Cajun would improve any show. ^_^**

**Supfan - I know! This story is a monster...cripes. If I were reading I wouldn't be able to do it. Holy hell...I need to shorten my stories more...**

**AFishNamedSushi - Nice to see you're healthy and still with us. ^_^ I worry about my loyal reviewers when they don't review for a while. Honestly. It's either because something horrible happened or my story started stinking (at least in my anxiety riddled little brain that's how it seems).**

**Axelrocks - Finals...ugh I remember those. Horrible times, mang. Hope you did well. Yes, the neck is pretty much a death sentence, there's only a very, very narrow margin where you could get stabbed and it wouldn't kill or paralyze you.**

**One of my reviewers said the story format with all the action was getting a wee bit confusing and I agreed, so I hope this new format is a little easier to follow.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Nine: Gris**

****Rick****

**The Mall**

Kicking the tiles at his feet, he lingered in the doorway to the mall, eyeing the surrounding area, all senses on alert.

The rain made seeing anything hard, but it kept the walkers confused enough that they didn't seem to be much of a problem. The sun was about to go down, he didn't like the idea of pulling this plan off in the darkness.

"Shouldn't they have been here by now?" Glenn voiced his concern from Rick's side.

The others were set up in pairs all around the surrounding area, but due to the rain he doubted their hopes to pick a few of the Woodbury men off would fly. They'd need to get everyone inside the mall, before setting it off.

"Something's not right," Rick replied.

It had been nearly two hours, Woodbury was only forty-five minutes away.

"What if they're not coming," Glenn said. "Hell, the Governor probably just killed the Lieutenant on sight."

"We don't know that. We wait until morning, then we'll think about packing it up."

"It'll be dangerous with this rain, in the dark with walkers stumbling about, confused, hungry," Glenn argued.

"We wait."

Beside him Glenn continued to shift uncomfortably.

Narrowing his eyes at the grey misty world, Rick placed his hands on his hips. He knew Glenn didn't like the situation, hell he didn't either, but he meant what he said, it ended here and now.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Shumpert****

**The Highway**

As they approached the mall on the highway, Shumpert eyed the man sitting in the cab of the truck at his side.

The rain outside made everything dark, made the cab seem like a mortuary and the man at his side was paler in the lack of light, the shadows under his eyes more apparent.

They were in a heavy duty, military truck stolen from that group of soldiers who were holding out on the 135 heading South, they came with a couple of crates of ammo and a kick ass rocket launcher. The very same one they used on the prison to scatter their people, it was the same one he had no doubt the Governor was planning to use on the mall.

The man was a coward, never only liked to enter a battle if he knew he was going to win, but since the prison group's continued existence was an insult to his pride, the man was heading for the mall, but he wouldn't get any closer than he had to.

Of course there were some things Shumpert would never voice out loud.

Like why were the people of Woodbury starting to starve when the men were out hunting a prison group instead of food? Or just where the hell did Martinez disappear to? And why'd Milton abandon them?

That was one of the biggest puzzlers.

Milton Mamet was damned loyal to the Governor. The man was practically a nerdy lapdog, so where'd he go and why?

It was beginning to seem to him that anyone close to the Governor were put in a place of bad luck and there was a small voice in his head that told him Philip was the source of it.

Damn fool would shoot his head off without hesitation, this he knew for sure. He'd seen it done. The man didn't like loose ends and he hated having his orders questioned.

Him and Merle Dixon were at odds a few times, but they had met on one plain of agreement and that was blood. They loved spilling it. But even Merle had his limits and it seemed his brother was it.

And of course the other men asked about Martinez, they had liked him, he was a mini version of Merle, loudmouthed, angry at the world, mean as a snake, but Martinez wasn't smart. He didn't know how to keep his damned mouth shut. Not like Shumpert.

Again he cast the man at his side a quiet look on a straight patch of highway, the patter of the rain on the roof the only sound in the cab.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Noah****

**Woodbury**

"Can we wake him?"

There were two others with Mr. Dixon who he had brought in. One was the lady Andrea arrived with, her name was Michelle or something, the other a grey haired lady who kind of looked like his English teacher Mrs. Thane, but prettier and less like an old spinister.

Noah, had looked to his mother, but she didn't seem worried about them.

"Are you kidding?" Mrs. Douglas inquired. "The man's in stage three hemorrhagic shock, if you wake him he's going to be weak and incoherent."

"Well, I ain't carrying his ass out, so he'd better get used to walking."

"I honestly thought you were smarter than that, Merle." The woman sniped.

Mr. Dixon ignored her, bending over the soldier to slap him on the cheek a few times. "Hey, wake up, sunshine."

The man muttered something faintly after a few more slaps.

"Was that French?" Noah asked.

"That wasn't English," Merle said. "Get your lazy coonass up," he ordered smacking the man again, hard.

The beautiful black woman caught Mr. Dixon's hand in midair as he went to slap the soldier again. "He's not getting up, Merle. Give up."

Noah's mother moved to unstrap the man, hand on his forearm. "You got to get up," she commanded. "Come on, honey. We can't carry you out."

"Grace?" The man mumbled. "_Le canari a vos queue plumes_."

Noah eyed the others, unsure what their plans were.

"Let's try to get some fluids into him," Mrs. Douglas suggested. "Since you're all so determined to get the poor man up."

The short haired lady, took the Marine's hand, smoothing a hand over his hair. "Maybe there's another way?" She suggested.

"Nope, get him up," Merle stated.

"Let's try to get some fluids into him." Mrs. Douglas repeated firmly. "He seems like he might be capable of at least downing some fluids."

"What kind of fluids?" The black lady asked.

"Electrolytes mostly, hang on," Mrs. Douglas scurried out.

"What the hell are electrolytes?" Mr. Dixon snarled.

"_Ange_?" The soldier mumbled, glazed eyes on the short haired woman above him. "_Est-ce que je suis mort?"_

"I don't speak French, Lieutenant," she said softly. "But we're here, you're going to be okay."

Noah watched the woman's eyes fill with tears and he winced. It didn't seem like she was that upset when she entered. He glanced around the clinic for a box of tissues for her.

"Everything will be okay," she went on.

Maybe the tears weren't for the Marine, he thought as he drew a few tissues out for the woman, handing them over politely with a small grin.

She returned it sadly.

"Why's he speaking in French?" Mr. Dixon demanded.

"He's confused," the woman with the sword replied calmly. "Probably can't remember English."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Shumpert****

**The Highway**

"Let's pull over here," the Governor commanded. "We'll walk in, I want to scope the place first."

Glancing up at the others in the back of the truck, he made eye contact with Novak and nodded almost imperceptibly.

The blonde woman nodded back.

Pulling the truck over, Shumpert allowed the Governor to exit first, the others in the back piling out.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Rick****

**The Mall**

The rain was falling heavier now, less like a mist and more like fat drops the kind that rolled down like the hurricane rains he had seen in footage from Florida.

"Alright," he said dejectedly. "Let's get the others inside, can't see shit."

At his side Glenn nodded.

"Be careful, could be anything out there, Governor's men, walkers."

"I'll go, Rick. You stay in case the Governor's men arrive."

Tilting his head, Rick sighed. "Now, Glenn, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'll be fine," the younger man said. "I'm a good runner, remember?"

"Let me go, you can run out of here," Rick replied. "Hold down the fort."

The younger man blinked. "I can do it."

"You're staying here, that's final." Rick insisted. "Anyone comes out of that rain, you shoot them and get the hell out of this mall through the back entrance, right? I'll return with the others through the back, so if you see anyone coming from this direction, it's not us."

Glenn nodded reluctantly. "Okay."

Taking in the outside world, Rick frowned, before snatching Glenn's cap off his head. "I'm borrowing this."

"It's not going to keep you dry."

"Yeah well, I can't afford to get pneumonia at this point in my life," Rick replied, before pulling the cap over his head and dashing out into the nasty spring weather.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Andrea****

**The Mall**

They couldn't see anything.

Positioned in the woods across from the mall, the rain made it hard to see even three feet in front of them. She couldn't remember the last time it rained that hard.

"We should be in that mall," she griped.

Beside her Tyreese shifted on his feet. "Well, Rick wanted us to surround them."

"Can't see anything," she went on. "You know he put us here because he doesn't think we can handle ourselves."

"How do you expect to run out of that mall once they arrive?" Tyreese asked calmly. "You're lucky we didn't tie your ass back up and shove you in the back of one of those trucks."

"My leg's fine, don't worry about me," she stated.

Shivering from the cold rain, she tried to fluff up her light jacket, hoping it'd help insulate her from the cold, but it was damp and just sunk slowly back against her skin.

"You shoot Daryl once and suddenly they think you can't handle a weapon," she grumbled.

"You shot Daryl?"

"It was an accident." She stated.

"And he didn't shoot you back?"

"Well, he was kind of indisposed."

"I'm surprised that redneck didn't kick your ass good."

Andrea smiled. "That makes two of us."

Scanning the grey area beyond the woods, she spied a dark figure shifting about and raised her rifle.

Tyreese shoved it downwards, hand on the barrel.

"What the hell?" She snarled softly.

"Hold on," he replied. "Could be anyone."

"Could be a walker," she replied, struggling to lift her rifle again.

The man pushed it down again. "Girl are you mad?"

The figure drew nearer and she tensed, with Tyreese holding her rifle down, she was forced to just watch as the shape became clearer. It headed into the woods nearby.

Cautiously she and Tyreese followed the person, coming upon Rick looking about for them.

He pulled his pistol as she touched his shoulder and spun on them.

Andrea eyed the barrel, but Rick put it away quickly.

"What's going on?" She shouted over the sound of the rain.

"We're pulling it in," he said. "The rain's too thick, can't see anything. Don't want to risk walkers. I'm going east, pick up Sasha and Beth, you head over to where Alan's got himself situation in that tree. When you return to the mall, go in the back entrance, otherwise Glenn'll shoot you on sight."

She nodded and hurried off, out of the shelter of the trees into the hard pouring rain.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Merle****

**Woodbury**

"What is that shit you're giving him?" He demanded. "You ain't trying to smack my balls on the upswing, are you?"

Mrs. Douglas smirked as she carefully helped the Lieutenant down some of the clear liquid she had brought back with her, her hands shook as she held the bottle to his lips, but the Lieutenant was spilling enough on his own due to being weak, so it made no difference. Most of the concoction was reaching his stomach. "No, Merle, I'm not trying to hurt your soldier. I'm giving him a mixture of baking soda, salt and sugar in clean, crisp well water."

"Why?"

"Electrolytes," she said. "We used to mix this up for the calves on the farm whenever they got the scours."

"I don't know what that is, but it sounds nasty."

"It was nasty, poor babies would have shit their eyeballs out if it wasn't for a lot of care and tenderness." Mrs. Douglas stroked the hair off the Lieutenant's forehead and made a small sound in the back of her throat. "It feels like he has quite the bump, poor boy is probably concussed. When you get him home, give him a shot of a good, strong anti-biotic and let him rest, he needs his rest."

"Why are you giving him this stuff if it's for the shits?" Merle went on, still a little suspicious.

"He's lost a lot of blood, honey. This isn't as good as a transfusion, but it's the next best thing." The woman continued to examine the Cajun quietly, hands moving over his body in a slow, professional manner. "Might have a broken rib or two, I see a bruise, could be bad. We'll wrap him up before you move him, don't think he'll get much tender care in your beefy hands, Mr. Dixon."

"They may be beefy, but you'd be amazed what they do," he muttered.

"Noah, why don't you try to find him something to cover up with, it was pouring sheets outside when I went for the electrolyte mixture," the old woman ordered.

Noah nodded.

"Not too far from here," Karen warned him. "We should try to get moving," she explained, moving in close enough to speak quietly with Merle. "The guards at the gate will be changing shift and they've probably been ordered to check on the prisoner."

He nodded. "Yeah, alright, we'll head out when Noah gets back. Okay, dried apple doll," he said to Mrs. Douglas, "you have until the kid gets back to truss that man up."

"Keep speaking so kindly to me, Mr. Dixon and I will smack your balls on the upswing, literally." She retorted, moving to search the nearby drawers and cabinets for something to bind his ribs with.

The Cajun spoke in French to Karen who shook her head at him. "Sorry, honey, the only French I know is '_voulez-vous coucher avec moi_'."

On the table, the Lieutenant fell silent, brow furrowed, more confused than he had been to begin with, his eyes glazed and darting around. It had been like he was trying, struggling to comprehend the world around him since he perked up a little, but he still flopped about like a limp fish, still sweated profusely, still refused to speak in goddamned English.

Michonne snorted at Merle's side.

"What?"

"That definitely gave him something to think about," she replied.

"I don't get it," Carol said.

Michonne chuckled. "Gitchi gitchi ya ya da da," she purred with a small, secretive smile.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Gris** – Grey

**Le canari a vos queue plumes.** – The canary has your tail feathers.

**Est-ce que je suis mort?** – Did I die?

**Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?** – (Do I really need to translate this one? I'm not going to belittle you by doing so…come on. Look up Patti LaBelle if you're confused, you'll thank me for it...or go to my tumblr page, I posted the video there).


	80. Entraîneur

**HGRHfan35 - Yeah, things are happening all over the place. I hope it's getting exciting for you. I'd hate for it to be confusing and such.**

**peonies01 - Yeah, for some reason the site wasn't sending notifications out that day. A lot of other author's mentioned it to me as well. Sorry about that, I did try giving notification on my tumblr page, but not everyone follows me there. Ah well, as Rick so eloquently put it 'shit happens'.**

**GG - That song is a classic. But the Patti LaBelle version, not this new stuff.**

**itsi3 - I agree. With Daryl in 'surgery' anything could be happening. :S**

**Merle's Right Hand - Merle is good at coming up with wonderful risque analogies, ain't he? Hehe. ^_^**

**Lilone1776 - Merle's a secret softie with big ol' squishy insides and a hard outer shell and I just want to hug him. HE'S SO FLUFFY!**

**Surplus Imagination - Yeah, the site was messed up that day. Sorry about that, not getting an alert is horrid (it's happened to me on this site before with a story I was following).**

**In case no one reads the replies above, I would like to mention before I get a billion comments about it, that the site didn't send out notifications about my last updated chapter. So if you haven't go read that first. My apologies for something I had no control over (I apologize because I'm Canadian, sorry about that). Also this is where I can weed out those who really read these AN's and who doesn't in the reviews. Ehehehe...**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty: Entraîneur**

****Tyreese****

**The Mall**

It wasn't that he didn't mind the rain, hell he could sit and watch it with a warm body all he liked, but the fat, heavy sheets of rain that was pelting them wasn't so friendly.

Sticking close to Andrea, lest he lose her in the thick veil of grey that had fallen upon the area, he kept his eyes and ears tuned. They could literally run right into anything, heading in the rough direction where Alan had been positioned in a tree on lookout.

Christ, he wasn't even sure they were headed in the right direction; all he knew was that Alan was to the west of them, kitty-cat corner from their position across the parking lot.

Raising his rifle as he spied a grey form in the near distance and nudged Andrea with his elbow, pointing at it.

She nodded and raising her own gun, limped towards it, favouring her good leg heavily.

As the grey rain thinned in the distance between them and the figure, Tyreese spied a couple more lingering behind it and felt something made of ice and pure fear clutch his heart and squeeze.

He faltered, stepping back as Andrea continued on, distracted by the hunt.

Watching as she took a step further than him, he released a shaky breath and caught her by the upper arm, stopping her short using all his strength as several more figures appeared behind the already nearing forms.

The black shades in the rain shuffled towards them, unsure, heads bent back, rain pouring over decayed flesh.

The lone figure in the front was the first to notice them, yellow, diseased eyes peering at the intruders, chin tilting down towards the ground.

For one horrifying moment Tyreese caught the things eyes, but the acid gaze of the walker shifted to the ground, to the sky, then to them again.

They couldn't smell them! The walkers sense of smell was nearly obliterated by the massive amounts of fresh ozone in the air.

"Fuck," Andrea growled in surprise.

At the sound, five puckered, withered chins snapped level with the parking lot pavement at their feet and the half decayed creatures began lumbering towards the two.

It was then that Tyreese realized there wasn't only one walker, not a handful or several, but behind them more and more shades appeared in gradients of grey, an entire fucking army of the undead and a few of them had heard Andrea's utterance of surprise and were now very intent on figuring out the two forms who had appeared before them.

In the near dark, Tyreese staggered backwards, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he grabbed hold of Andrea and shoved her in a run back in the direction they had come from.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Father O'Rourke****

**The Convent**

He still wasn't entirely certain whether he was actually living in reality or if perhaps he had died and gone to some kind of hell he had made for himself.

Outside the walls of the convent were things that lurked in the deepest, darkest parts of a man's nightmare's, ready and willing to reach out and snatch the very heart from his chest and Father Henry O'Rourke really wasn't all that keen on hunting the beasts down.

He'd probably call it cowardice, though he liked to think he'd protect his home should the need arise, he still wouldn't place himself at the ranks of heroics the likes of which Rick Grimes or Daryl Dixon were placed by the others.

Which was why he was now making his way around the corner of the infirmary to check on the very same Dixon he had come to think of as one of the convent's sworn knights, because the man lay within the walls of the clinic wavering on the edge of life and death and the loss of such a good provider, such a stalwart warrior would surely usher about a new age for those left alive within the stone walls.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he spied four living creatures on the ground before the doors of the infirmary, two knelt in prayer, two lying at their sides in wait, sheltered from the rain by the overhang of the infirmary roof.

For a moment he thought the worst had happened and that the Mother Superior or Grace rather, and her tiny ward were saying a prayer for the man's soul, but he realized that was a silly notion. The woman would be at the man's bedside saying the final benediction prayers, not huddled in front of the door.

Pulling himself to a neat stop, he eyed the woman for a moment, Annie peeking out from one eye at him, waving quickly, before going back to her prayers as solemn as a nun herself.

He had honestly thought Grace had given up all her faith, but it was good to see that while she had forgone her sacred vows, she hadn't completely stopped communicating with the Lord.

Kneeling quietly at Annie's side on the fairly dry cobblestones before the door, Father O'Rourke gave Grace one last, studying look, before clasping his own hands in prayer.

He prayed, not just for Daryl Dixon, but for the Lieutenant, for Annie to find peace with her memories, for Rick to calm his wounded soul, for Merle to finally find the goodness within him, for Carol to take a few minutes out of her near non-stop schedule for herself each day, for Beth, Glenn and Herschel to find peace with Maggie's passing, for Michonne to open her heart for those who deserved her trust, for Tyreese to find acceptance within the walls of the convent, for Sasha to finally prove to her older brother that she wasn't a delicate willow branch, for Alan to put his son and wife to rest within himself, for Carl to stop the nightmares he had of his mother's end, for Sister Mary Agnes to step forth as the strongest nun remaining in an effort to lead the sisters on the continued path of righteousness, for Sister Mary Claire and Sister Mary Elizabeth to remain devout and strong, for Sister Joan to aim true as she walked the wall. But most of all, he prayed for Judith to grow up never knowing firsthand the loss of any of the one's she loved, until God touched them with a natural, peaceful eternal rest and he prayed that their home within the walls would remain filled with hope and love and that the stone walls surrounding their home remained solid and strong until the End of Days came to its own bittersweet end.

It seemed like a lot to ask, and he wouldn't fault God for being busy at the moment with other's less fortunate than them, but he figured it couldn't hurt to pray.

If Grace could keep her faith during such a time, then he knew that God hadn't failed them. That they were under his watch and guidance. Maybe that was his intention in the first place, to keep his flock within the convent walls safe.

Having his final word with God, Father O'Rourke opened his eyes and found Annie had finished her prayers, Grace still quietly communicating with the Lord.

"I prayed for a little brother to climb trees with," Annie admitted softly. "And that Mr. Daryl would wake up and catch me a turkey for dinner."

The priest smiled at the young girl. "I thought the Lieutenant was after your turkey."

"He hasn't caught it yet," the girl admitted softly. "Mr. Daryl can catch anything, Carol said so."

"You mustn't lose faith, Annie. It's usually with faith that you find hope."

Annie furrowed her brow. "Can faith catch me a turkey?"

"Maybe, if you give the Lieutenant a little faith," he replied. "He might be inspired to finally nab the bird."

"But then it's really not faith catching the turkey, but the Lieutenant."

The priest wasn't sure what to say to that.

"I really want to eat turkey soon." The little girl whispered. "And I don't think the Lieutenant is coming home. My daddy didn't and they both promised they would."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Carol****

**Woodbury**

They managed to get the Lieutenant sitting up, but he swayed and would have surely flopped right back onto his head, had she not been there to support him from behind.

Struggling to get him covered by the far too small flannel shirt they had given him, she helped Michonne and Karen as the women tried to get the poor man dressed a little more appropriately for the weather.

It was extremely difficult, what with the Lieutenant being as limp as a wet spaghetti noodle, his body ready to collapse whichever way was leaning closer to the pull of earth's gravity at the moment.

With glassy eyes, the Cajun craned his head around and eyed Carol quietly as she supported him, arms wound around his body delicately, but firmly, afraid of tearing his shoulder wound or his neck wound, afraid of causing his ribs anymore pain then they must have been giving him.

"_J'ai fait ma meilleure tentative, Ange_." He whispered softly, his voice sounding like the winds blowing dry sand across the desert. "_Je suis désolé. Je suis si désolé._"

"Come on, we have to get moving," Karen said. "The guards will be checking in soon and we haven't come up with a solid exit strategy yet."

Stroking the Lieutenant's dark hair off his sweaty forehead, Carol gave him a weak smile of encouragement. "We have to move, Lieutenant," she said. "Can you do that for me?"

He blinked at her.

The young man from Woodbury - Noah if she recalled correctly - stepped forward quickly with the Lieutenant's dog tags in hand. "Here," he offered, slipping them on over the man's head. "Before he forgets them."

Everyone tensed as the Lieutenant was helped off the clinic's exam table gently and he did well for a few seconds, before his knees buckled and he crumpled into Merle's arms, the good one clutching the front of the soldier's borrowed flannel shirt, the bad one hooked under his arm.

The older Dixon brother scowled deeply, but said nothing, just held the man up.

"I don't want to carry his ass the whole way," he finally pointed out.

"Something needs to be done," Karen said. "He's not going to just walk out."

The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed at Merle's face an inch from his. "_Entraîneur _LeBlanc?"

"What? That had better be a compliment, dummy." Merle snarled, half dragging, half leading the soldier in the direction of the door.

As Merle struggled under the Lieutenant and Karen and Michonne worked out a plan of escape, Carol moved to stand beside the old woman, quietly watching as the Lieutenant drifted in and out of conscientiousness.

"I'm amazed you managed to save him," she admitted softly to the woman beside her.

The old woman turned kind brown eyes on her, the softly bronzed wrinkles at the corners of them giving her such a warm look. "Thirty-seven years as an ER nurse, you pick up a lot of tricks."

Carol eyed her suddenly, eyes wide. "What do you know of stomach wounds?"

"Bastard things," she said. "If the stomach acid leaks into the chest cavity, it can most certainly cause serious peritonitis, it's almost always fatal."

Carol drew her mouth in a grim line. "What if it hit the spleen?"

Suddenly there was interest beyond mere conversation in the woman's eyes and she turned to Carol to face her completely. "Someone you know?"

She nodded.

"And they're still alive?"

Again she nodded, her head bowing quickly when she realized that might not be true anymore. "I think so." _I hope so._

"Spleen doesn't mean it'll be half as fatal as the actual stomach," the old woman reassured her. "Do you have a capable medic with your people?"

"I trust Herschel, but…yes, we do."

The woman nodded. "I'm sure this Herschel has everything under control." She said, reaching out a trembling hand and gripping Carol's hand with a weak grip.

Carol nodded, a tear escaping from her eye and rolling down her cheek quickly.

"What's the plan, Merle?" Michonne demanded softly as Merle quickly left the room with the Lieutenant, the others following.

"I'm going to haul his ass up over the wall on my back," he replied.

"Not with his broken ribs you're not," Carol objected.

"Hell, the bastard will survive the climb," the man stated. "He survived a pair of fucking scissors to his neck, he'll survive a bumpy ride up a steep incline. Wily coonass luck," he added with a mutter. "Besides," he went on, "this is a better plan than risking our necks strolling out the front gate with this limp dick in our hand."

"Merle," Karen scolded, eyes on her son warily.

The young man blinked stoically, though Carol had the feeling the boy was old enough to get the gist of the man's colourful analogy.

"The boy's eighteen, I'm sure he knows all about hard and limp dicks by now," Merle stated.

This time the young man seemed to animate, cringing almost shyly at the mention of both.

Kicking open the door, Merle stepped out into the rain and grey of the narrow alley between the back of the clinic and the wall, coming face to startled face with a fiery headed young man who appeared to be in the middle of taking a long toke of a rolled cigarette. In the near dark he was lit only by the pallor of his skin against the faint light of the setting sun struggling through the rain.

Everyone froze, the red head letting out a long, slow stream of smoke, eyes wide with panic.

Mrs. Douglas snapped into action, stepping between the group and the boy.

"Stuart McKay, that had better not be one of those grass cigarettes," she began sternly. "I swear to the good Lord your daddy'll tan your ass if he were to find out."

The young man dropped the joint in shock and took a step away from the old woman, in the rain it rolled into a nearby puddle, but continued to smolder.

"Where you got that nasty junk in the first place is beyond me," Mrs. Douglas went on, waving them towards the wall with her hand behind her back. "The world's gone to seed and here you are in a back alley breaking your mama's heart with this nonsense. I'm going to do her a favour and slap you into the spring of next year."

"Are those the terrorists from the prison?" The boy asked.

Mrs. Douglas inhaled deeply, before beginning a long tirade that seemed to cause the young man's spine to shrink down until he was huddled in a two foot heap of shame. When she was finished tearing a strip up one side and down the other of the boy, she finished with a very stern, "now you go on and get out of here before I tell your parents what I caught you doing!"

The young man gave the fleeing group one last, hesitant look, before turning and taking off at breakneck speed.

Mrs. Douglas shook her head and obliterated the rest of the joint under her sneaker, crushing it into the puddle. "Damned hippie kids these days, nothing but potheads and sex fiends."

"Will he—"

"He'll certainly give it serious thought first, after what we just caught him doing," Mrs. Douglas stated. "No decent boy like him would dare tell his parents right away. Besides, he knows if he does that and I'll slap his face so hard it'll do a complete one-eighty on his neck."

"Did I mention what'd I do to you if you were sixty years younger?" Merle asked her with a grin.

"We had this conversation once, I believe it ended with a threat from me," she stated. "Now you make sure you don't drop that poor man."

Merle rolled his eyes as Michonne and Karen helped secure the Lieutenant to his back. "I'm not going to drop him, couldn't hurt him any worse anyways. Might knock some sense into his dumb Cajun ass."

As Merle began to scale the wall, Carol turned to the woman with a small smile. "Thank you for your help," she said. "You've been very kind to us."

The woman angled her head. "Oh, I'm coming with you."

At the other's curious looks, the woman smiled serenely. "Can't stay here now, once they find Noah and the Marine gone, Stuart will eventually talk. Besides," she added, "I understand you have a man down with a gunshot wound feels like something I might be able to help with."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Entraîneur** – Coach

**J'ai fait ma meilleure tentative, Ange.** – I made my best attempt, Angel.

**Je suis désolé. Je suis si désolé.** – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


	81. Maison

**So many kind reviews. A few newcomers too, very much welcome! ^_^**

**I know, I know, going to be a lot of people complaining about not finding out what's happening with those at the Mall in this chapter...but deal with it, kiddos, I have loose end's to tie up at the convent and such. I'm sure you won't fault me for leaving a bit of the action behind for some angst, right?**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty-One: Maison**

****Old Missy****

**The Convent**

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stroked Annie's hair off the girl's forehead and smiled.

"Sister Mary Agnes will be right across the hall if you need her," she said.

"Why won't you just stay here tonight?" The girl asked. "In case I need you."

Sighing, Grace stood up. "Because they need me on the wall tonight. Sister Mary Elizabeth is in the infirmary with Herschel and Mr. Mamet and Father O'Rourke and Sister Mary Agnes are both catching up on their sleep."

"But I need you."

"I know, honey. But we can't always have what we want. You'll be perfectly safe and Sister Mary Agnes is right across the hall, besides Boo's with you and Mr. Daryl's dog."

Annie buried her face in the grey fur of the dog sleeping on the cot at her side.

Sister Mary Elizabeth had to literally drag the dog out of the infirmary where it had flopped its huge frame on a cot beside Daryl's and refused to move during the surgery.

Herschel and Mr. Mamet were still working on the man, they took another unit of blood from the young nun, but the surgery was so far going smoothly thanks to the generator and the equipment from the Marine base.

"Will you come back in the morning?" Annie asked.

"Of course."

The little girl blinked up at her. "You have to promise."

"I promise."

Annie rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand. "Promise not to break your promise?"

"I swear, honey. I'll be just outside on the wall." Grace said, pulling a jacket on to shield herself from the rain. She knew if Lafayette were there he'd be puckering his brow at the thought of her going out to stand in the rain on the wall all night, but with very little people left at the convent, she was elected to wall duty in the downpour.

"If you don't come back, I'll understand," the little girl whispered.

Grace felt that frost shield she had put up around her melt a little at the sight of the girl. She had promised herself she wouldn't let on how upset she was with the entire situation, but here she was crumbling.

She straightened her spine and levelled her chin. "Don't be silly, honey. Now get to sleep and try to keep covered up tonight, this rain is cold and it's getting colder." Leaning down, she pressed a quick kiss to Annie's forehead and moved to the little box where Judith was sleeping.

With no real option, Grace had placed the box up inside her chiffarobe, her sparse collection of clothes shoved to one side of the rack so that the box could fit inside and off the cold floor.

Inside the box Judith was sleeping so sweetly, her chubby cheeks pink with good health, her eyelashes fluttering against the tops of her cheeks.

"If Judith wakes for any reason, you get Sister Mary Agnes, right?"

Annie nodded on the bed. "Yes. And if she doesn't, then let her sleep. I know. And don't bother her or wake her, because she's warm and happy in her crib."

"Good girl, you're growing up so fast, sweetheart." Grace remarked. "Carl will be in shortly, he can watch Judith after that, okay? Don't worry if you wake and she's gone."

"I won't. Is Carl going to stay inside with us?"

"He'll be in shortly and I'll tell him to make himself comfortable next door in Sister Joan's room, she won't mind."

"Okay."

Moving to the door, Grace snatched up the .22 rifle the Lieutenant had given her and slung it on her shoulder.

"I love you," Annie called after her.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Grace replied easily from the doorway. "Now be good for Sister Mary Agnes and Carl."

With the rifle on her back, she scurried down the hall, heading for the door. Now wasn't the time to be matronly. With the protectors gone away to war, she knew that she'd have to finally lay hand on the rifle.

She wasn't lying when she told Lafayette that she knew how to handle one, as a southern woman who grew up in the rural areas of Georgia, she used to go rat shooting with her brothers, but that had been with pellet guns in all honesty. Still, a gun was a gun and her aim would probably be no different. She was a good shot, not a crack shot like the Lieutenant, but then again he was a trained sniper, but she could at least hit what she was aiming at given a decent distance.

With no other options, she was prepared to step up if needed. There wasn't any hesitation on her part, not anymore. She made her peace with the fact that things weren't like they used to be.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Merle****

**The Road**

Sitting in the back of the truck, huddled under a tarp with Karen and her son as they sped down the highway, Merle glowered out at the rain. It was lowering the temperature of the normally heated Georgian night until you could practically see your breath and there looked like no end in sight. No stars, nor any moon to give him hope of clear skies overhead.

Every now and then Karen would look over at him as though weighing his worth with her eyes, before she returned her attention to the cold, damp world around them.

If the biters didn't get them then pneumonia from the damned cold and damp would. It was cold enough to turn balls into marbles, but they had no choice.

In the front of the truck Michonne drove, Carol and Mrs. Douglas on either side of the Cajun fawning over his sorry ass.

Hell, it wasn't like Merle was displeased by the dumb bastard surviving his ordeal, he just wished the stupid ass would snap out of his confusion and start speaking English, the babbling French wasn't helping anyone.

It seemed like hours in the rain before the truck turned down the cattle trail of the convent, sliding and spinning in the mud, before Michonne pulled it over to the side, one side driving on the grass which gave them traction enough to make it through the mudpit that the trail had become.

Eventually the truck slowed and Merle peeked out and around the tarp, but he couldn't see much in the rain, he knew that they were getting close to the convent though and odd as it was, he felt a form of relief wash over him.

He never had a home, never cared much to have one, but there was something oddly comforting about the thought of pulling the truck into the convent and stepping out in the safety of the lawns within the walls.

Maybe it was the fact that he was just looking forward to checking on his brother, before curling up where it would be dry and warm.

God, he just wanted to be dry and warm. His nest-like bed never seemed so inviting before. The day had been hell and he just wanted to sleep.

Eventually they pulled to a complete stop and Merle glanced out and around the tarp again, finding them at the front gate of the convent.

He hated that feeling of absolute relief he felt. It meant he was feeling sentimental about the fucking place.

Sister Mary Claire opened the gate for them, her clothes plastered to her body in the rain and her face pale, eyes wide as they drove inside past her.

No sooner had the truck stopped, then Merle leapt out onto the soggy grounds, where the trucks were beginning to wear muddy ruts into the grass before the church. Worried they might be put into some kind of situation where the newcomers could be accosted, Merle held out his hand to Karen to help her down from the back of the truck, keeping her and her son close until he could explain things to the others.

There seemed to be no sign of Rick or the others, so they were either still at the mall or never coming back. Of course the heavy rain made it hard to see anything that wasn't in his face.

Helping Michonne remove the Lieutenant from the cab, Merle kept his eyes out for the others, but after dragging the Cajun halfway towards the infirmary, he only came across Carl who was heading inside from the wall.

He eyed them quietly for a moment in the hard rain, bowing his head so that a small waterfall poured from the brim of his hat.

"Better put him in the dorms for the night," he suggested. "Herschel's still working on Daryl in the infirmary, he doesn't want contamination from outside sources while he works."

Merle hefted the Lieutenant up as the man begun to slip, glad to hear that his brother was still with them, if only just and veered off for the dorms, following Carl, Mrs. Douglas fussing over the Cajun from behind.

"You'd better fucking appreciate what I'm doing for you," Merle growled to the Lieutenant as they stepped into the dorms, both men creating a lake beneath them.

The man lolled his head on his neck and eyed him quietly.

Carl led them down the hall, before pushing open a door into Sister Gertrude's old room. "Here," he said. "He can sleep in here."

As Merle settled the Cajun with Mrs. Douglas still lingering, he snarled at the old woman. "You know we have a man with a gunshot in the infirmary, right?"

"I have no clue where that is," she argued.

"Who's this?" Carl demanded, hand on the pistol at his hip.

"Hardly a threat," Merle replied. "Take her to Daryl and Herschel."

Carl hesitated, eyeing the woman. "Is she from Woodbury?"

"Yeah, and she can help out with my brother." Merle struggled to get the Lieutenant to still on the bed as he kept trying to leave it for some reason. "Lie down you stupid coonass bastard."

"_Je n'appartiens pas ici_." The Cajun argued.

"Shut up and lay down or I'll knock you out," Merle snarled. "Carl just get your ass over to the infirmary with Mrs. Douglas! Stop being a little shit!"

The young man scowled at him. "Fuck you, Merle. I shouldn't have to take orders from you."

"You'd better choose your next words wisely, boy." Merle replied, pushing the Lieutenant back onto the bed roughly.

Karen stepped forward from where she lingered in the hall with her son. "I have him, Merle, take Mrs. Douglas where you need her."

"I'll stay with her and Noah," Michonne offered.

Giving Carl one last acidic look, Merle stormed out of the room.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Carol****

**The Convent**

As soon as the truck stopped, she was out the door, heading for the infirmary in the rain.

It was selfish of her to worry about Daryl first before getting the Lieutenant settled, but all she had on her mind was the need to know if he survived the surgery. Everything else sort of blurred.

By the time she reached the infirmary, she was soaked right through and entered the building quickly.

Across the main room she spied Herschel and Mr. Mamet still huddled over Daryl's body and she couldn't see, but from the looks of it they were still working on him.

Herschel glanced up as she entered.

"Carol we're still working on him," he said quickly. "He's fine so far, but if you don't mind I would like it if you weren't here right now."

She nodded and backed out the open door with a soft, "sorry."

Pressing herself against the wall beside the door, huddled under the overhang, she heaved a sigh, but still felt the tears that were threatening to spill all day fall. She gripped the wooden rose at her collar tightly and watched the rain fall, eyeing the way a foggy mist seemed to mingle with the droplets as the heat of the earth dissipated into the atmosphere as the temperature dropped and cooled the area down.

She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that the surgery was taking so long.

Finding Merle and Mrs. Douglas heading through the rain towards her, she sniffled back the tears and cleared her throat, not wanting to upset Merle.

They both nodded to her and stepped inside.

After a few minutes of what she was sure was Merle explaining things to the others, he emerged alone and stood beside her quietly, watching the rain for a moment.

Carol glanced over at him.

In the darkness she could only make out his vague form, lit by the lights coming from within the infirmary where the generator hummed power to the entire building for the time it was needed most.

Quickly and pointedly, Merle Dixon reached out his good hand and clamped it on her shoulder, there was hesitation right before it landed, but when it did it was warm and rough and heavy and real.

Catching his eye, Carol found him watching her with furtive, darting glances, before he nodded once and removed his hand, heading for the frat house.

She watched him disappear into the rain, before deciding to go and seek out Grace and to check on Judith and Annie.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Old Missy****

**The Convent**

Standing on the wall, the hood of the light jacket she had on keeping most of the rain off her head, shivering from the cold and wet, she eyed the truck parked in front of the church between long bouts of keeping watch on the land beyond the wall.

The rain was still pouring down on her head hard, but in the flashes of lightening that had begun streaking across the sky she caught sight of the truck and the buildings better. The only downside to the lightening was that it flashed then her eyes had to readjust to the darkness again and it made keeping watch harder.

It seemed to be getting colder as the heat evacuated the ground that had soaked it up all day, or maybe it was just because Grace had been standing in the rain for about an hour.

Maybe it was the sign of bad news that someone hadn't come to find her yet. Maybe they were trying to decide how to approach her with the news, maybe they were debating who would be the bearer of bad news.

She tried not to think about it. Tried hard not to think about how oddly desolate her life would be without the Cajun.

And then a flash of lightening and Carol was there, walking the wall, heading towards her.

Grace felt like her legs would fail her as she stood still, trembling hands clutching at her rifle as she fought not to break down and frighten the other woman.

Carol was probably in hell herself, Daryl was still in surgery and there was just too much blood taken from Sister Mary Elizabeth, no more could be taken for the man.

"Grace," Carol shouted over the rain, her hands clutching a rifle of her own.

Bowing her head, Grace prayed one last time that the news was good, before she turned to face Carol.

"We found him," Carol said. "He's alive, in rough shape but—"

Grace didn't intend the sob to escape her throat, but it tore out from her in an animalistic cry. She thanked God, she thanked every Saint and angel she could think of quickly in her head, before smiling at Carol. "Good, I'm glad."

The woman nudged her. "Go on inside, he's in the dorms for the night, I'm sure you would like to see him. I'll take your watch."

Slipping the rifle onto her back quickly, Grace pulled Carol in for a tight hug and pressed a thankful kiss to her cheek. "Thank you," she said, grasping Carol's hand in hers tightly. "I've prayed," she confessed, "for the Lieutenant to come home safely and for Daryl too. Seems God might be listening tonight," she finished, hoping it gave Carol peace of mind.

Beaming, Carol nodded. "Must be. Go on inside."

Grace gave the woman one last smile, before hopping off the wall carefully and racing for the dorms. Slipping and skidding on the grass in an undignified manner. If anyone were to see her in her haste, she would lose all face at the convent, but she didn't care one bit. All she wanted was to feel his heart beating beneath her cheek.

Inside the building she shed her waterlogged jacket, dropping it on the ground just outside the door to either rot or wash away with the rains, she didn't care, she wasn't dripping on her floors.

The first room she came too was the one he was in, she knew because of the ruckus inside as she peeked in.

On the bed, pale, sweaty and looking weak, was the Lieutenant, struggling like a kitten against Michonne's arms as she restrained him to the bed.

"_Je n'appartiens pas ici_!" The man protested wildly, fighting with all his power against being confined to the cot.

Grace stepped into the room, heading straight for him. "Lie down," she commanded, "before you hurt yourself, good Lord."

Falling still and silent at her approach, Grace spied the man struggling to make sense of something, he looked confused and a little frightened.

Glancing around the room quickly, she found two newcomers standing quietly in a corner, drenched from the rain and shaking from the cold. "Michonne," she said softly, easing onto the edge of the cot, "why don't you take those two and get them some warm, dry clothes and open a jar of preserves for yourself and them, I can take care of the Lieutenant."

The woman's eyes sparkled and she bowed her head. "He's a pain in my ass anyways."

Grace smiled at the woman's words, eyes on Lafayette who had begun to tear up as it seemed his mind caught up with him.

"Thank you, Michonne," Grace added before the woman left. "For bringing him back to us."

"Well, it was easier than we thought it'd be. Truthfully, I'm kind of disappointed." At the door she paused. "He's going to be fine, just a little confused from blood loss and a nasty concussion. Got real lucky."

As Grace was left alone with the Lieutenant she quietly studied him for a moment as he flopped back onto the bed, eyeing her with heavy lidded eyes, ready to fall asleep at any second.

"You stupid ass," she stated, wiping tears out of her eyes stubbornly. "You stupid, stupid son of a bitch."

As a principle Grace never swore, but she felt there weren't words enough that could sum up what exactly she was thinking at the moment in regards to the Cajun lying on the cot.

"_Je me sens comme si je veux vous voir nu_," he mumbled, running a weak finger down the side of her face, tracing the path of a tear.

In the dark she couldn't make out the glassy, dazed look in his eyes, but she knew he was confused by the mere fact he was speaking French with her. He knew she didn't know much.

"I don't speak French, darling," she whispered, feeling a droplet of cold rain water trickle out of her hair and down the back of her neck. "You know that."

"_J'aime une femme avec une petite poitrine_," he said, eyes sliding shut.

"You're never going far from this place, ever again," Grace admitted. "You're going to stay close to home from now on."

He opened his eyes, but barely enough to really see much.

"You must be tired, honey." She said. "Get some rest."

"_Je t'aime, pie bavarde_." He muttered one final time, before falling asleep.

Pushing to her feet, Grace eyed him as he slept with a calm, measured look, before deciding it was safe to get out of her soaking wet clothes, hurrying to the door, she closed it and quietly shed her wet clothes onto the floor and pulling a clean white nightgown from Sister Gertrude's chiffarobe to slip on.

Moving back to the cot, she slipped in beside the Lieutenant, mindful of the bandages on his ribs that showed through the open buttons of his ill-fitting flannel shirt, she lay her head against his chest.

If she could hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing she'd be able to sleep peacefully.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Maison** – Home

**Je n'appartiens pas ici** – I don't belong here

**Je me sens comme si je veux vous voir nu** – I feel as if I want to see you naked

**J'aime une femme avec une petite poitrine** – I love a woman with a small chest

**Je t'aime, pie bavarde** – I love you, magpie


	82. Jongler

**Brazen Hussy - If you loved mushy Merle in that chapter, wait'll you get a load of this Merle!**

**Whooptiedoo - Have to love concussion/blood loss confusion/babbling.**

**HGRHfan35 - I'm hoping in this story and the sequel to build Merle's character, to have him grow and develop the way he should have been developed. Because I love the man and he had so much potential.**

**ImOrca - That _was_ a typo actually, I meant to spell 'dog' she was a 'dog' shot. Thanks for catching it. ^_^**

**peonies01 - I figured Merle and Carol must both be going through hell right now...not really knowing.**

**Merle's Right Hand - You might scold the Lt. but deep down I know you love his dirty babbling.**

**MollyMayhem84 - I agreed with everything you said. Not a single thing did I disagree with. Nope. Nothing. (Have I mentioned how much I love you and your reviews, you've really been a huge supporter of my work, if you didn't know that you need to know how much I appreciate you, so thanks. Reviews like yours are what make my grey days feel bright).**

**itsi3 - I agree. As long as they're at the convent they're safe...I hope.**

**basically-a-fangirl - I'm glad you're happy. ^_^ Thanks for the review!**

**eieball326 - At least I update fairly quickly, right? RIGHT? XD Thanks for the review!**

**Supfan - I love that people accepted the love story. I was expecting some hate mail from super duper religious types.**

**GG - Haha, don't care for Rick, huh? (Me? Personally I love the man, rewatching seasons 1-3 all I can think is how much I just want to hug him...he needs a hug).**

**LL - Did you just bust out into some serious Queen on me? (LOVE IT!)**

**RuinNyght - It's hell being in that limbo state while a loved one is in surgery, isn't it? I feel for Carol and Merle right now so much.**

**Hey kids, I want to take this moment to plug a beautiful little Milton Mamet centred story written by one of the neatest (and I've heard sexiest) creatures on the planet. Our own Merle's Right Hand (you may recognize her as the talented lady who did the cover art for this silly story). It's called That I Should Rise and it's right here on . So go and show her some love, because it's two chapters of pure perfection.**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty-Two: Jongler**

****Tyreese****

**The Mall**

Grabbing hold of Andrea so he didn't lose her in the rain, Tyreese led them in the exact opposite direction as the walkers that were chasing after them. He knew if they kept running they'd come to the woods eventually, thinking they might have better coverage amongst the trees.

He didn't even care to look back. He knew those hungry bastards were behind them, snapping at their heels as they tore across the pavement for the trees.

It was a shit day which had opened into a rainy evening and was fast becoming a shit night as the rain didn't seem like it was going to let up and – oh yeah – there was a shitload of infected at their heels.

Andrea's limping was dragging them down, but Tyreese wasn't going to just let her fend for herself, he wasn't that kind of man. Poor thing had no real defence, just some crappy little 9mm pistol.

He shoved her ahead of him, pushing her on, keeping himself between her and the infected.

She stopped anyways, turning back to the infected with her gun raised.

"We don't have time," he urged, gripping her arm again.

Andrea pulled away roughly and continued to fire at the walkers at their heels.

"Come on," he said, firing a few rounds himself, just to keep the infected from falling upon them. Gripping Andrea's arm again, he flung her behind him, firing at the infected that were getting closer. "Run!" He shouted back to her.

She hobbled off for the woods, Tyreese giving her cover fire enough to get away clear, before he followed her.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Sister Mary Agnes****

**The Convent**

Hurrying across the lawns in the rain, she kept the cold bowl of leftovers under the protection of the heavy jacket she borrowed from Father O'Rourke as she made her way towards the old garden shed.

She had been sleeping when the others came back, but had woken when Annie woke screaming.

To her surprise Grace emerged from Sister Gertrude's room, heading in the direction of the wee one's screaming and peeking into the room the woman had recently vacated, she spied the Lieutenant sleeping peacefully in the cot.

It was then that she realized the group from Woodbury had returned and while she was pleased that the Marine was back, she was eager to check on Mr. Dixon.

She thought she'd pop in quickly with some food for him, a good enough excuse to disturb him if he was sleeping.

Tapping lightly on the door, enough to be heard, but not loud enough to wake anyone, she waited for a moment, before opening the door and peeking inside.

Merle Dixon was sitting up on his cot, knees drawn, elbows resting on the tops of them.

"I thought you'd be hungry," she explained softly, pulling the bowl out from within the jacket.

He blinked at her, before motioning her inside with his good hand. "I was thinking of sleep," he greeted as she handed him the bowl, "but this fucking rain makes it hard."

Sister Mary Agnes smiled. "I'm glad you're back safely. I see you found the Lieutenant."

He nodded, shovelling a spoonful of leftover stew into his mouth, it was the last of their canned supply, but they were about to begin on the military rations in the church, at least for canned vegetables. "Dumb ass was trussed up like a gutted pig," Merle said. "We cut him loose, dragged his ass over field and stream, he'd better show some gratitude."

"He will, you know he will, the Lieutenant is many things, but he's always been the kind of man who knows a good thing when he sees it." She hesitated, before adding, "I know you're grateful to have him back."

"Am I?" Merle grunted.

"Aren't you?"

The man tapped his spoon against the side of the chipped white bowl, chewing slowly, thoughtfully on his mouthful of stew, before swallowing. "Well, I know my baby brother will like the fact his soldier boy is okay."

"I prayed for Daryl," she said. "Prayed he'd come back to us in good health."

"Yeah? You get a busy signal from God on that one?" Merle inquired.

"We're blessed here," she stated. "God has provided us shelter and safety within these walls, he hasn't abandoned us."

"You think Sister Gertrude and Mary Monica might argue that point?"

Bowing her head at the memory of her sisters that day beside the church, Mary Agnes took a seat on the Lieutenant's old cot.

"You're a pessimist, Mr. Dixon," she pointed out. "All you see is the negative."

"Because that's all there is," he replied. "Daryl ain't going to come out of surgery, just like the Lieutenant isn't going to brush off a near death like it ain't no thing. This new world changes people for the worst."

"Not you," she argued. "Hasn't it changed you for the better? Aren't you looked at as more than some strung out redneck?"

"Is that what you think I was before all of this went down?" He asked.

She tilted her head at him and he beamed.

"Alright, so I'm kicking biter ass, so what? Doesn't make me a fucking hero."

"But you are, don't you know?" She smiled, clasping her hands together. "You know what Annie said to me yesterday? She thinks you're so strong you could lift the church, she thinks you're an angel."

Merle laughed. "Me? An angel? Yeah, sure, one who likes to drink and screw and swear, right?"

Sister Mary Agnes laughed too, but for a completely different reason. She was laughing because it was nice to see Merle smile. He rarely did it without a snarky comment preceding or following it. "Children don't see people like that," she stated. "Annie thinks the world of you and your brother and Rick and Glenn and Herschel and Michonne and anyone who has taken the time to talk to her or smile at her or play with her. All she wants, all any child wants is to make friends. She's happy here with us, she's safe, she's blessed."

"She's spoiled," Merle argued. "If that were my kid she'd be handling a gun by now."

"She's six and the Lieutenant knows what he's doing, if there's one man I trust to make good judgement calls on something like that it'd be him, he handles a gun better than anyone and he'll know when she's ready for one." Pushing to her feet, she smiled at him softly. "But I didn't come here to debate guns and children with you. I only wanted to make sure you ate something."

"Why?"

"Because, Mr. Dixon, I care about you."

He beamed at her. It was that grin he got before he made some kind of blue remark, so she cut him off swiftly.

"Maybe give that some thought before you try to hit on me," she suggested.

With a dying grin, he bowed his head to the bowl in his lap and took another bite.

Sister Mary Agnes eyed him quietly for a moment, before speaking again. "You're a good man, Mr. Dixon. I hope one day you'll see your worth."

"It's cold tonight, sister."

He stopped her at the door with his voice and she turned to find him grinning again.

"The kind of cold that's beaten with two warm bodies in one bed," he finished with a small tilt of his head towards his cot.

She smiled at him. "I can ask Father O'Rourke if he wouldn't mind sharing a bed with you tonight," she teased. "But I think he might deny that request."

Merle chuckled as though he was expecting that kind of remark.

Moving to the cot she had perched on, she removed the thin blanket and stepped over to drape it over his shoulders, tucking it around him gently. "For tonight, you may have to settle with layers instead of a woman."

"Well there's a first," he replied.

"I know it doesn't mean much for me to say, but I'm proud of what you did today for the Lieutenant. Getting him back was risky and I know he wouldn't want you to have risked yourself like that for him, but I'm happy you did. The good a man does lives on long after he's gone." She leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, but he flinched away and she hesitated for a moment before completing the motion.

For a few seconds he gazed up at her with startled blue eyes, before he scoffed. "Christ," he said, "you go and make me feel like some damned hero it's gonna go to my head."

"I hope it does."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Sasha****

**The Mall**

They had been left to guard the trucks which were parked on the eastern side of the mall, standing on the roof of one, Beth on the roof of the other truck, Sasha struggled to make out anything in the rain and dark, her rifle clenched in nervous hands.

Pops from gunshots in the distance broke over the rushing sound of the rain and Beth immediately raised her rifle, Sasha doing the same.

"Woodbury?" Beth asked softly.

Sasha narrowed her eyes at the grey hazy distance. "I don't know. Probably."

"We should take cover," Beth suggested.

Turning her eyes on the forest to their back, she found a figure emerging and nearly squeezed the trigger before she recognized Rick.

"Jesus," she scolded him. "I nearly shot you in the face."

He held up his hands. "We're pulling it inside tonight, there's too much rain."

"Did you hear the shots?" Beth asked him.

Rick nodded. "Yeah, but there's nothing we can do, we can't see anything. You two get inside the mall through the backdoor, I'll head out to see what the problem is."

Sasha frowned. "I'm not letting you go on your own."

"Beth can't head to the mall on her own either," Rick replied casually. "Get inside. I'll be right there with the others. Through the back or Glenn'll shoot you."

Before Sasha could protest any further, the man was gone, back into the woods.

"That man is a tall drink of stupid," she muttered, looking over at Beth with a grin hoping to comfort her with a joke of sorts. "Cute, but crazy."

Beth smiled nervously.

"Come on, sweetie. Let's get inside before we get picked off."

The young woman nodded and began to descend from her perch.

"Can't be running around in this rain," Sasha went on muttering. "Catch pneumonia and die, that'll be ironic. Oh hell no, Sasha was done in by the common cold. Like I could get a dignified death…" she hopped off the truck roof and rounded it to meet up with Beth who still looked a little terrified of the thickness of the rain around them. "We'll hug the mall," she said. "That way we'll only have to watch one direction for threats."

Beth nodded. "Okay."

Sasha smiled at her. "Don't worry, we have the upper hand."

"Why's that?"

"Because we're smarter than the average infected."

"What if it's the men from Woodbury though?"

"We're smarter than them too," Sasha replied with a grin. "But don't spread that around, arrogance is usually the downfall of a proud civilization."

Beth's steps faltered as they heard more gunshots, it was hard to pinpoint them exactly as the sound bounced off the raindrops that were falling, causing the sound to envelope them entirely.

If the rain didn't let up, if the men from Woodbury were already at the mall, if walkers or anything else turned up, they would be sitting ducks.

It wasn't a nice feeling, being at the mercy of the weather, being in a place so exposed and so unfamiliar to them, but it was a dark necessity, she supposed. If the threat at Woodbury wasn't eliminated they'd be victims, faceless names who fell by the wayside while the stronger group survived.

Jesus, it was almost political, almost historical, it was almost like she was living in the best of times and worst of times.

Where the hell was Dickens to write their tale when she needed him? Pity for the poor, the underfed, the over worked, the orphaned and the wretched was his specialty.

The two women stopped short at the sound of screeching tires and more gunshots.

"That's the men from Woodbury, isn't it?" Beth asked. "It has to be, right?"

Sasha frowned. "I don't know, sweetie. Let's just get inside and find Glenn, okay? No sense losing our heads wandering around in this soup, we'll get our bearings with him and then figure out just what the hell is going on."

She just hoped wherever her brother was he was keeping his own head, it may have been half filled with air, but she kind of liked it where it was, securely on his shoulders.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Jongler** – To think, to reflect thoughtfully.


	83. Espoir

**LaurenEmilyxx - I feel like God when people give me reviews like that. O_o Thanks for the review! ^_^**

**Jack And Honey - Appreciate the reference to my favourite Doctor. Thanks for that!**

**Brazen Hussy - Terry Pratchett wouldn't approve, but I do.**

**ImOrca - I appreciate that character analysis of Merle. It was beautifully put, I honestly think it was the nicest analysis I've yet to hear on the man.**

**HGRHfan35 - I feel your desire to sleep curled up with any one of those men. I really do.**

**itsi3 - Haha! I love it! Like a whole bunch of 'nope' from Woodbury and the squealing tires was them peeling out the way they came.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Don't worry, I'm thinking it may just be a solid friendship the likes of which could influence Merle to find that good man we all know he has locked up inside. Then again, things could change...honestly I never really plan ahead in the way of characters making friends and having relationships, it all just sort of happens. Que sera, sera, right?**

**basically-a-fangirl - Maybe some vegetable Daryl. Does that count?**

**Newsqueen123 - I like Sasha too. I honestly think she could be a strong female character who isn't too over-the-top.**

**eieball326 - Is your sister a nun? Are you a nun? No...probably not, but that would have made my day. XD Thanks for the review and the chuckle!**

**Supfan - I hope it literally explodes, if Michael Bay has taught me one thing it's that a crappy plot is made better with an explosion (yes, I just called my plot crappy, I roll that way).**

**GG - I love that you catch all these subtle things I put into my chapters. Yes, it was taking a terrifyingly long time with Daryl, wasn't it? Hmm...**

**Whooptiedoo - Merlagnes? Mary Merle? Merly? I enjoy this mashup game! Thanks! I'm glad you enjoy my change of style for each POV, it's something I've never been complimented on, so it's lovely to hear. ^_^**

**Merle's Right Hand - Admit it, if you knew the Lt. in real life you'd make him your hump buddy. Don't deny it, I know you.**

**SilverWolf84 - No worries, my friend. I'm just glad you're still with us. This story is getting long though, I sure hope it ends before it reaches 100 chapters...**

**Surplus Imagination - I want to make Beth a little more of an ass kicker now that Maggie is gone. Beth needs to step up.**

**God, I'm not even in this story and I'm sick of all this rain. Daymn.**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty-Three: ****Espoir**

****Rick****

**The Mall**

He was sprinting through the underbrush of the forest, keeping his head low enough to avoid trouble, his .357 in his hand, his knife in the other.

Fuck, he should have dragged people in long before it got dark, because with the rain, the lack of lights and the dark he could barely see anything.

Feeling his heart palpitating wildly in his heart, he kept moving, heading for the sound of the gunshots.

His clothes were plastered to him, absolutely soaked right through from the rain, his jeans weighing him down by about ten extra pounds just due to water alone. If he survived the night he would be suffering serious chafing in the morning, but he supposed that was the least of his worries.

Colliding head on into a walker, he back pedaled, knife out before him, and waited until it lunged after him to ram the blade up and into the soft underside of the walkers chin. It dropped heavily and he kept on, if there was one, there'd be more.

He pulled in to a complete stop at the sound of tires squealing and gunshots, far too many and far too rapid then the rifles Andrea and Tyreese had with them. Too rapid even for the semi-automatic Alan had been given for his treetop perch.

Deciding to risk it, he dashed out from the cover of the woods, heading in the direction of the sound. It had to have been the Woodbury men, they finally arrived.

Knifing a walker that appeared out of the rain, heading for nowhere in particular, Rick carried on, purposely striding towards his death. He wasn't merely being poetic or dramatic when he said it ended tonight, it would end come hell or high water, he would claw and drag his corpse if he had to, but it would end. He was tired of his people running, of being looked at by the others as another disappointment in a long line of disappointments. He was tired of seeing the hope die in their eyes.

They loved the convent and he'd be damned if he let Woodbury or the Governor or any asshole chase them out of yet another home. Walkers could go fuck themselves, the Governor could be tossed into the river for all he cared, he wasn't going to roll over, not anymore.

More gunshots and he turned left, taking him through the soupy rain, still on the parking lot pavement.

He knifed another walker, and another, but the more he strode towards the sounds of gunshots the more walkers he found emerging from the grey.

Rick raised his gun and began knocking infected on their asses, blowing their brains out casually. It wasn't the dead he was afraid of, not here and not now.

A military truck not unlike the one's they arrived in loomed out of the rain and darkness, the headlights on and calling to him like a lighthouse in a thick fog and he made his way there cautiously, his own gunshots blending with the ones he already heard. He didn't see any living creature, but he heard the gunshots coming from the back of the vehicle.

As he leaned against the side to give him better protection from the rain, he stuck his hand against a piece of tarp which had been carelessly tacked up on the side of the truck.

He stepped back to eye it and found his plans for no mercy shifting and adjusting, he wasn't clear on what to do now, whether it was a trick or sincere.

The tarp fluttered, the black spray painted words which had obviously been scrawled in haste and probably in the back of the truck out of the rain, wrinkling. For one moment the tarp seemed to smooth perfectly and he could easily read the words 'peace talk?' which had been written on it in letters at least two feet high.

Rick scowled at the tarp, ducking it as it fluttered again. Reaching the back of the truck, he peered around the corner, finding about five or six men standing there gunning down walkers. He glanced into the back of the truck and found himself meeting the single blue eye of the Governor, the man trussed up, his knees looked broken and bloody.

For a moment Rick raised his pistol, thinking he could just shoot the bastard then and there, but he paused. Was this supposed to be a peace offering from the Woodbury men? Was this a trick?

Suddenly confused and reworking his plan, he backed away, deciding to give himself some time to think things over at a much safer distance. He'd meet up with the others and work on a plan from there, because he wasn't going to let something like this slip through his fingers, but he sure as hell wasn't going to just trust the Governor's men. It would feel like rolling over to him.

This put a fucking kink in his plans. Things were easier when it was just about killing, but peace talks? Didn't sound like something he could do anymore. But if they were serious it could mean an end to this. But if it was a trick, if this was just a plan to stall or to lure them into a false sense of security…could he really just let it go? Would he be able to rest easily knowing they were still out there? Still a threat? Hell he had to look over his shoulder enough with the walkers, never mind watching his back for Woodbury.

Fuck it, he had to find his people first and foremost.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Grace****

**The Convent**

She was returning from calming Annie from her night terrors, about to head into Sister Gertrude's room where she wanted to keep an eye on the Lieutenant, when she spied Herschel and the elderly woman stepping in from the rain.

Gripping the simple white nightgown she had borrowed from Sister Gertrude's chiffarobe in mild embarrassment, she approached them, eager to hear the update.

Herschel eyed her with his kind eyes. "He's resting now, when I did a probe of the wound the spleen was nicked, but it wasn't obliterated, I was struggling to find a way to remove the spleen initially but due to the placement of the organ under the ribcage, I figured it'd have to be a stich job through the entry wound, of course then I struggled to stitch it properly, but we eventually got it stitched up using a pair of long forceps and we got his entry and exit wounds finally closed. In good time too, he was struggling for a bit there and we were running low on blood for him."

"He'll be fine?"

"He'll live, he has his spleen, though we'll have to keep a close eye on him for a few days, Milton Mamet's in there right now watching over him, but I was hoping to find someone to cover for Carol, she'll probably want to take over that job," Herschel said.

Grace nodded. "I had hoped and prayed he would come through. You look worn, get some rest, I'll get Carol and give her the news."

"What about your man?" Herschel asked. "I hear he came back in relatively one piece."

Smiling, Grace bowed her head. "My man," she mused, "_my man_ is lucky he came back in such rough shape, because I would have slapped his face for putting us through what we went through. Of course," she added sheepishly, "I'm grateful he came back to us at all."

"I can keep an eye on your man for you," the old woman said kindly. "If it'll put your mind at ease while you're out."

"Thank you, um…"

"Barbara Douglas."

"Thank you, Barbara."

The woman smiled. "I sort of feel a little responsible for that boy anyways, he came very close, got very lucky."

"He's always been that way," Grace replied. "I'm going to put some clothes on for the wall, excuse me."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Tyreese****

**The Mall**

They didn't even slow when the military truck appeared out of the grey, heading straight for them, he just pushed Andrea's limping form ahead of him and continued on into the trees.

Now they were somewhere in the woods, near some trees and walking on fucking leaves and shit. Yeah, like he had his bearings right.

"Come on," he growled to himself, eyes darting across the ugly, dark assed, rainy forest for a hint as to which direction to head in.

Andrea staggered and fell and without thinking he grabbed her by the ass of her pants and dragged her to her feet, she flashed him a mildly annoyed look, but recovered enough to keep moving.

Wiping rainwater off his face with his free hand, he took a step to his left and found there wasn't anything to meet his foot, just air.

Sliding down the muddy bank, he collapsed in a heap at the bottom of a steep hill. Feeling around for his gun, he paused as Andrea's screams pierced the night air, coming in clear over the rush of the rain.

Patting the ground until he found his gun, he fumbled his way up the embankment back to the woman, scrambling over the edge to find her collapsed under three walkers.

Raising his rifle, he took the first two shots, before deciding the third was too risky, before he could reach for his knife, Andrea shoved her own into the walker's temple.

"Are you bit?" He demanded, hurrying to her side.

She shook her head. "No, I turned to see if you were okay and they launched themselves at me."

"Can't see much around us in this dark and rain," Tyreese replied. "We should find a tree and wait it out, maybe."

Andrea nodded. "Thanks for the save."

"I just hope you remember me when my time comes," he replied moving on.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Carol****

**The Convent**

"He'll be okay?" She asked just to clarify what she thought she heard.

Grace smiled. "Herschel says he should pull through, but to watch him carefully for a few days."

Touching a hand to her stomach which was suddenly fluttering in a rush of pent up nerves, Carol beamed. She had no idea how knotted her guts had been until Grace came up to her, until the tension wore off and she was suddenly reminded of what it was like to not feel so clenched up. "I should go and watch him, in case he needs me."

"I think Mr. Mamet could use the relief as well," the former nun replied.

Exhaling deeply, Carol pulled Grace in for a hug, gripping the woman tightly. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything, honey," Grace replied with a wide grin. "Go on now, I'll make sure there's someone to cover your shifts on the wall and your chores until Daryl recovers."

Nodding, Carol adjusted the strap of her rifle and hopped off the wall carefully, mindful that the wall didn't seem as high as it was, mindful of the fact that she wasn't as young as she'd like to think she was.

Landing on the soggy grass, she headed straight for the infirmary, trying hard not to break out into a run, but still trying to make good time.

Reaching the medical building, she pushed open the door and stood dripping in the front area until her eyes adjusted to the near dark. The lights had been turned out, save for one hanging over Daryl's bed, the equipment he was hooked up to making soft beeps.

In a chair by Daryl's bed Milton Mamet sat, reading what looked like an ancient copy of Field and Stream magazine.

Carol approached quietly and he looked up only when she stopped at the side of the bed across from him.

"He's lucky," Milton began, closing the magazine and standing up. "Herschel is a surprisingly adapt veterinarian."

Gazing down at the pale Dixon in the bed, Carol smiled a little, watching his chest rise and fall.

"We, ah, didn't really have anything to put him under with, but Herschel rigged us up some kind of anesthetic using something he called 'field spray', don't ask. It should wear off by morning, but try to keep him still, if those stitches tear all our hard work will have been in vain." Milton added. "I'm going to head in," he said, "if that's okay with you."

She nodded. "Thank you."

The man pushed his glasses up with the knuckle of his forefinger against the bridge. "I honestly didn't do much else but provide what little knowledge I had of the human anatomy."

"You don't even know him," she said.

"By the way things got around here when he was found I took a wild guess that he's pretty important, but then again I always thought all human life was. Call me a poetic soul," he admitted. "Did your people find that soldier?"

"We did, he's recovering in the dorms."

"I'm glad. I hoped they would." Milton paused. "Truth is I'm terrified of the way humanity has fallen, not because of the infected, but because man is now facing a re-establishment of tribal territories. This ugliness between Woodbury and your people is only the beginning. If history has taught us anything, the strong will devour the weak and they will be the men to rebuild civilization as we knew it."

Carol looked up at the man with shining blue eyes.

"It'll only get worse before it gets better," Milton stated.

"So what are you going to do?" She asked.

"Keep the records." Milton backed away from the bed. "I'll bring you something to read while you sit here."

Waiting until she was left alone with Daryl, she eased onto the side of the bed, her hip brushing against his.

Quietly, carefully, she covered his scarred chest with the light blanket, he wouldn't want to be on display to anyone who would just wander in. She wouldn't want him to feel that vulnerable, it was going to be hard enough keeping him in the bed come the morning, never mind having him squirm about in discomfort should anyone wander in to pay him a visit.

Taking his rough hand in hers, she clenched it tightly and stroked his hair off his face, it didn't matter how short she chopped it his hair still fell boyishly across his forehead.

Carol smiled. He was such a wild thing. Always scruffy, always dirty and constantly on the move.

Which was why it was so hard to see him like he was. Pale, still, surprisingly clean as though someone had scrubbed him down quickly after or before his surgery.

Bringing his hand up to her face, she rested her cheek against the back of it and finally began sobbing, releasing the pent up horror and sorrow she had kept inside for so long. It didn't matter if she cried now, but she felt like she'd get sick if she kept it in any longer.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Espoir **– Hope


	84. Attraper

**Brazen Hussy - He can be a bit much, huh?**

**crazstiz - Next chapter is big bro's visit, I promise!**

**HGRHfan35 - Taking a break from 'feels' in this chapter. At least where Tyreese is concerned (I wrote that part late at night...so...no take backsies!)**

**Merle's Right Hand - Because you complained about the rain I called in a favour to God and ended it. You're welcome.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Haha, like a cat to a mouse! XD Now I'm just screwing with you, putting Andrea in all kind's of situations now.  
**

**itsi3 - Yeah, in this world without a lot of anti-biotics infections can be a bitch, huh? Yikes...**

**SilverWolf84 - Enjoy this chapter!**

**GG - Honestly I love Milton, he needs to be in this story more. Maybe he'll play a bigger part in the sequel.**

**Aphrodite2 - Yeah, there's going to be deaths. Such is the way of TWD world, huh?**

**Supfan - Yeah, I'm going slow, aren't I? Ah, well, at least it's still interesting, right? RIGHT? O_O**

**Axelrocks - No worries about the lack of reviews, good to see you're still with us. ^_^**

**Surplus Imagination - Yeah, Carol is becoming a little hard, isn't she? Even on the show. Not sure if that's a good thing or not. She's such a sweet lady...erm...**

**peonies01 - You should have a bad feeling. That's all I'll say.**

**BanannaFlvdSnow - Good to see you caught up! Welcome to the current chapter and thanks for all the kind reviews on the others! ^_^ I want to write more bro time and girl talk...maybe in the sequel. Yeah...**

**Lilone1776 - Well, there's only so much a man can do before people start to think he's a little looney. And Phil is pretty goddamned looney.**

**Ms Q - I think Glenn would agree with you on the peace talks. I was rewatching TWD this week and all I could think everytime Rick was onscreen was how badly that man just needs a hug. Like someone just needs to hug him and baby him a little...I wanna make a bundle of him, okay? Is that weird?**

**Anyways, Odd Couple references aside, this chapter has a lighter ending, because I felt you kids needed a bit of a break from the angst and suspense. So...I may have also written it late at night, hence the comedy. I get wacky after dark when I write on too little sleep. No apologies.**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty-Four: Attraper**

****Rick****

**The Mall**

With Woodbury now at the mall, he made the decision to give up his search for Andrea, Tyreese and Alan, opting instead to head straight for the back door of the mall to warn Glenn and the others about the Governor's men and their arrival.

He also wanted to discuss the 'peace talks' and what he saw in the back of the truck with his people. There was no way he could back out of his plan to take out the men of Woodbury, the armed soldiers, but the thought of peace talks…he wanted to talk it over. It could be a trap, it could be sincere, but he learned long ago that taking things on himself wasn't the way to lead. He'd talk to the others, get their input, give them fair warning at least that they weren't alone.

The rain was finally letting up, as he made his way to the back door of the mall and Rick noticed that he could actually start to see a wider area around him.

His clothes were at least ten pounds heavier with water and he felt the chill to in his bones, but he barely took any care for it, his long legs moving him into the mall and across the highly polished tiles.

Glenn and the others would be at the front doors, watching, waiting to make their escape towards him, so he'd meet up with them there. Hell, for all he knew Andrea, Tyreese and Alan had made it back on their own and were waiting for him.

The mall was dark inside, so dark he had to fumble for the little penlight in his pocket, his shaking, cold hands and the wet material of his jeans making for a clumsy manoeuver.

Glancing up to check his surroundings, he took a moment to retrieve the little penlight, holding it up, shining it before him. It wasn't powerful enough to catch the stores across the corridor from him, but it would give him enough time to catch anything that could be coming at him.

With his rifle tucked under his arm and his penlight in hand, he continued on into the mall.

By the time he reached Glenn at the front, the younger man was arguing with Sasha who it seemed wanted to go out looking for the others.

As Rick stepped in close to the group, she turned impassioned eyes on him.

"Rick, did you find them?"

"No, I didn't find anyone else," he said.

"We gotta get back out there and find them, then," Sasha stated, moving to leave.

Rick caught her by the upper arm and held her back. "We don't go anywhere right now," he ordered. "Woodbury's here."

Everyone seemed to straighten their spines, tensing for a fight.

"Glenn, is the rain thinning?" Rick asked.

The younger man took a quick glance out the boarded up doors quickly. "Yeah."

"Can you see their truck?"

"No," he replied, "wait, yeah, yeah I see it. It's still pretty ugly out though."

"Can you read the side of it?"

"What? No, why?"

"When I was out looking for our people, I came across their truck, they were busy taking down walkers. There was a sign on the side, said 'peace talks'," Rick began.

"So?" Sasha demanded.

"The Governor was tied up in the back, looked pretty battered and pissed off." He finished.

Glenn frowned. "So? You said no prisoners, this 'peace talk' crap could just be a trick."

"And what if it isn't?" Rick returned. "Wouldn't you hope that we could still offer to at least hear them out?"

"No," Sasha agreed. "I don't like it. You said it yourself, it ends here, today."

"We should at least hear them out, don't you think?" Rick asked, playing devil's advocate when in all honesty he didn't think he'd mind just killing the men from Woodbury.

The thought of zero hesitation suddenly chilled him more than the rain water soaked clothing clinging to his skin.

"I say we kill every last one of them," Glenn stated. "No mercy, no prisoners, no peace talks."

"I want to hear what they have to say," Beth said softly.

Everyone looked over at her, she had been so quiet through the whole conversation.

She looked shyly at them. "Can't we arrange something? A meeting or even just to get them to write us something on paper? Some kind of communication?"

"Beth," Glenn began, "do you want them to trick us or do you want this to end?"

"Now hold on," Sasha stepped in, "let her have her say."

Beth grimaced, glancing over at Rick.

"Go on," he urged, wanting to hear everyone's opinion on the matter.

"What if it was us? Our people? Wouldn't you want another group to at least hear us out if we asked for peace talks?" She said. "Glenn, I know you just want the world to burn right now, but shouldn't we try a little humanity?"

"No," Glenn stated. "I say we lure them in here like we planned and blow them up, solve the world's problem short of solving the walker plague. Done. Ended. Over."

Everyone looked over at Rick like he was still their ultimate final say.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, the gold of his wedding band catching the glint of Beth's flashlight.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Michonne****

**The Convent**

"Never seen anyone on the wall who didn't mean business," she purred.

On the wall she was patrolling, she had come across many people inside the stone barrier doing various things, but never someone on the wall with a notebook and pen in hand, a penlight tucked into their mouth as they scribbled in the notebook.

The rain had stopped and the stars were finally in view, but the land was still drenched, soaked and she wasn't expecting to find anyone or anything out in the early morning hours.

Milton Mamet looked over and up at her, dropping the penlight into his lap to speak.

"I couldn't sleep." He replied.

She worked a kink out of the muscles of her back by rolling her shoulders, eyeing the walker tied to a tree below them. It had been altered much the same way hers had been.

Admittedly she wasn't half as nervous around Milton Mamet as she had first been. Maybe it was just the Stepford Wives vibe she was getting from Andrea at Woodbury, or maybe it was the Norman Bates sincerity of the Governor that had her on edge, but with Milton she more or less ignored him.

Maybe it was why she wandered over to see what he was doing, she still didn't trust him completely.

Or maybe it was because she was bored and wanted to actually have a conversation with someone, anyone would have done.

"What are writing?" She asked. It came out as a command.

"My daily log of activities. I want to remember a few things Mrs. Douglas taught Herschel and I about stitching up a spleen," he eyed her warily.

Michonne tilted her head at him. The man was about as threatening as a field mouse.

Carefully she eased onto the wall at his side, dangling her legs over the edge boldly, unlike his carefully tucked in pose.

"Why?"

"Because soon mankind will hold no regard for medical journals, many will be burnt to keep people warm come winter and a lot will more than likely serve as makeshift toilet paper. I can't collect every tome, though I'd certainly love to, so I'm making use of myself and keeping track of medical advice from a trained professional."

"That redneck boy going to make it then?" She asked, changing the subject with nothing really to say to his last statement.

"Hopefully, we'll fight off a few infections, I'm sure. A clinic is clean, but it's no hospital surgery ward. Of course, people are a lot stronger than we give them credit for being, the human body is an intricate and interesting device."

"What did you do before the world went down?" She asked.

"I sold chemical supplies to large industrial companies for mining and the likes," he replied.

Michonne frowned. "I would have guessed some kind of scientist."

"My parents died when I was young, I grew up in a series of foster homes," he explained calmly. "Couldn't really afford university, never got a scholarship, wasn't that lucky."

"But you seem so smart," she pointed out.

"Not really," he said. "I'm just observant." Removing his glasses he cleaned them on his shirt.

Taking that opportunity, Michonne plucked up his notebook and thumbed through it. Most of it was mechanical observations on basic survival, how to purify water with charcoal briquettes and a sponge, but some of it was observations of people and places.

Finding him studying her and reading just how observant he was, Michonne put the notebook back on the wall between them and sighed heavily.

"What are you doing here?" She asked. "Why'd you come all this way through the woods to find us?"

"I don't know," he admitted softly. "I like to think it was because of Philip and the change in him I've been a witness to, but…truth is I never felt like I really belonged at Woodbury. I never really felt like I belonged anywhere, all my homes, apartments, bungalows, they were all just a series of hotel rooms to me. I never really personalized, any of them never really got to know my neighbours or settle in."

"You're a nomad," she said, teasing him though her tone was serious as always.

He smiled slightly. "Maybe." Inhaling deeply, he motioned to the church behind them. "I like it here though. It doesn't feel like a home, but like a place."

She blinked.

"Just a place," he repeated quietly.

"You don't belong here," she said.

At his almost wounded look, she went on quickly.

"In this world," she stated. "It's full of sinners and killers and you're neither."

Around them the night was filled with the sounds of frogs, croaking happily in the moist world left by the rain, getting their fill of the humidity of the night.

"I know," he whispered. "I'll be dead before winter comes."

Michonne blinked at the man. For some reason his resignation over his fate got to her, normally she'd be pissed that someone would just roll over and die like that, but something about the man, the way he looked, the way he spoke, it got to her, touched that gentle feminine spirit deep inside her.

Pushing to her feet, she glowered at him, before marching off, back down the wall in the direction she came from.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Tyreese****

**The Woods (Somewhere)**

They were lost in the damned woods, in the middle of the night, with only a handful of bullets and a couple of weak assed guns.

So far his night was going fucking swimmingly.

At least they didn't have a hungry horde of undead at their heels, so that was one thing he enjoyed about being in the middle of the woods, cold and wet and accompanied by a limping, bitching woman.

Not that he had any negative feelings towards Andrea, but hearing about how they were lost every ten minutes was a fucking dream for him. All he wanted was to be warm and dry and safe and preferably to be inside some heavy assed walls with a couple of cans of cold beer and maybe a little female companionship (that wasn't bitching about the weather and the woods).

They had gone back the way they thought they'd come, but after what felt like an eternity of wandering, they didn't hit hell or the mall, so he was sure they were lost.

It wasn't until he began to smell a familiar scent in the fresh air of the aftermath of the rainstorm that he began to feel a small sense of worry creep up his spine.

But it wasn't the same.

Not that he was a smell connoisseur of dead things, but there was a slight difference between pure rot and the walking dead rot and this smelled like pure rot to him.

Carefully he kept on, Andrea limping behind him quietly.

The first corpse (actual _dead_, dead corpse) they came across, had been tacked up to the trunk of a tree with wire and hung there garishly, rotting for the world to see as a form of warning. In it's hands, tied to the corpse's wrists, was a sign that read 'minefield ahead'.

Tyreese felt immediately creeped out. Something wasn't right about that.

Andrea moved in to inspect the corpse with her upper lip curled.

"What do you think?" She asked him. "Cartoon antagonist or actual warning?"

"Both?" Tyreese suggested. "Let's go back the way we came."

"That's going be another half an hour in that direction that we know doesn't lead home," she argued. "Let's split left here and head that way." She took a step to the left.

With wide eyes, she grappled for something, grabbing hold of his arm as the leaves of the forest gave way beneath her feet and they toppled down into a deep pit dug into the earth.

Tyreese landed wrong, but it wasn't his bone he heard snapping. Winded, he gasped for air, struggling to get to his hands and knees.

Andrea groaned and began whining.

"My fucking leg," she growled, grasping at it.

"Did you rebreak it?"

"I think so."

Taking in the dirt walls of their pit, Tyreese struggled to his feet, trying to hop up and grab the edge, it was too high.

"Well," he began, "unless you can sprout wings from your back then we're going to die here. Just what this night needed."

"Oh God, it's bad! It's bad!" Andrea gasped, holding her leg with trembling hands.

Tyreese dropped to one knee at her side. "Just sit still, not much we can do now. Just hope a pile of walkers doesn't decide to drop in on us too. How many rounds you got left?"

With shaking hands, she counted out the bullets left in her gun and in her pocket. "Eight."

"Yeah, I got about twelve." He pulled his knees to his chest, leaning back against the dirt wall. "Goddamn vacation hotspot," he muttered, "done in by a hole in the goddamned earth like some third rate cartoon bullshit."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Attraper** – To catch.


	85. Écouter

**crazstiz - I believe you asked for a Merle bit with Hot Dog!Daryl. Enjoy!**

**Brazen Hussy - I get a sense of satisfaction when someone reviews like they're yelling at their TV, because this show makes me do this all the time. I consider it a compliment. ^_^ *smug mode***

**DarylDixon'sLover - I shall! In fact if you're reading this, I just did! XD**

**MollyMayhem84 - Let Andrea live, huh? Okay! Milton does need a hug, maybe from a nun, when they're nice they give good hugs (but when they're not so nice...well I saw The Magdalene Sisters, thems some fucked up shit there).**

**Merle's Right Hand - Your love of Andrea is not missed by me, babes.**

**HGRHfan35 - I agree. I think Milton is resigned to his fate because he knows that in the world they're in one has to be tough and brave and strong in order to survive and (as of that moment) he is not.**

**Ms Q - It is a hard decision to make, isn't it? Peace might be a nice thing, but if it's a trick then it's a very deadly wager you have riding on that theory of 'peace'. Poor Rick, no wonder he's cracking, he has some pretty hard decisions to make.**

**itsi3 - Yeah, we haven't heard from Alan in a while, have we? Also, it's not a bad thing to find Tyreese and Andrea's situation funny, it kind of is. Being stuck in a hole is kind of cartoony.**

**GG - HAHA! That title is magical! It gives me images of Milton and Merle frolicking in a field of wild flowers holding hands with huge, watery anime eyes.**

**BanannaFlvdSnow - Aw, welcome to the group then! ^_^ Milton = Prim, love that description, pretty accurate. Tough Glenn kind of does it for me, ain't going to lie.**

**Supfan - Well, somewhat lighter. ^_^**

**LL - Tyreese does have more sass, but then again he's in a shitty situation, I'd be sassy too stuck in a hole. What else is there to do?**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty-Five: Écouter**

****Rick****

**The Mall**

"Alright, Glenn you want to go through with the plans, Beth doesn't, Sasha?"

The woman shifted on her feet for a second. "I think we should take them out, send a message to anyone else who wants to screw with us."

Eyeing the group, Rick sighed heavily, but nodded. "Okay, majority rules, we go through with the plan. I'll step out, you give me cover fire enough, when they start coming after me, you run and we'll drag them through the mall. Glenn, you're the fastest, as soon as I give the signal you run ahead and set the timers on the missiles."

Glenn nodded.

"Beth you stick close to Sasha, you get me?"

Beth nodded.

Leaning in Rick, gripped Beth's shoulder. "You need to stay with Sasha, understand? I can't be watching you and your daddy needs you back home, okay?"

"I promise," Beth said.

Nodding, Rick stepped away. "Okay," he moved to the doors, putting his pistol away so he made less of a threat. Giving Glenn a quick nod, Rick inhaled and shoved open the only door they left open, stepping out into the parking lot.

The remnants of the Governor's men were just reloading their weapons by the truck, using it as cover from the mall, but he spied a couple of them keeping watch. Around their truck was scattered about fifty walkers, all of them lying on the ground absolutely still.

Glenn and he had a hell of time making the vehicle out in the dark, but since the sky seemed to be getting a little lighter in the east, Rick could finally take in the amount of walkers the men had actually gunned down.

Didn't really impress him, with the kind of stolen firepower the Governor's men had, a good handful of his people could have done the same.

Breathing deeply, Rick walked as though he were heading for their own trucks parked on the far side of the building, pretending he didn't see the men and their truck, knowing full well that they could open fire at any moment.

Far enough from the door to make it seem natural, he glanced over and noticed a single man heading towards him, unarmed, hands up.

Rick froze, eyeing the man.

At that moment he could let them have peace or he could lead them towards the trap.

He hesitated.

Inside him was that cop who still wanted there to be good left in the world, but deeper down was that demon he felt growing and feeding inside him, that beast that brayed for blood.

In that split instant, instinct took over and he chose to survive by any means, turning tail and moving purposefully towards the man, cautiously keeping an eye on the others over his shoulder.

The man, a broad shouldered, powerful looking black man, stopped a few feet from him.

"I don't want trouble, man," he greeted.

Rick shifted on his feet. "You get your men out of here then."

"Can't do that. Too much blood's been spilled yours and ours."

Swallowing thickly, Rick glanced around, taking in the men by the truck. "Yeah and your leader started it all."

"We just want to talk."

Sizing up the man, Rick sniffed. "You want to talk?"

"The Governor's under control for the time being," the man said. "My name's Shumpert."

"Is that a first or last name?" Rick inquired, buying himself a little more time to take in the situation.

"Does it matter right now?"

"I suppose not. You want to talk, talk about what? How your people pitted my man against his brother? How your people came into my prison and killed my people? How they unleashed walkers on us?"

"We want to talk peace."

"Where's the Governor now? Did you kill him?"

"We have him secured. He's yours if you want, but only if you'll consider peace between our groups. Do we have an understanding?"

"I don't make decisions without consulting my people," setting his hands on his hips, Rick eyed the man, stared him down. "I want to see the Governor, you have him with you?"

"He's somewhere nearby."

"Got him in that truck?"

"Let's talk first."

"Tell you what, you want to talk, I want proof this isn't a trick, you grab your Governor, bring him before me as a sign of trust."

Shumpert motioned behind him to one of the others.

"We just want an end to this," he said turning back to face Rick.

"Yeah, well your leader really opened up a bag of pissed off cats when he decided to mess with my people."

The other man didn't say anything and for a moment Rick almost considered hearing them out.

No, he decided, they'd die here, he was done being merciful.

Watching as the Governor was dragged out from the back of the truck by a large woman, Rick met his cold blue eyes with empty calmness.

"Okay," he began, "let's talk peace. Bring him inside."

"No, we talk peace out here."

Rick angled his chin. "You brought the Governor out of hiding as a sign of trust, now I'm inviting you and your men inside my people's home as a sign of trust, do you get me?"

Shumpert narrowed his eyes at Rick.

"You want peace talks, we'll talk peace, but after that display of cowardly tactics at the prison, you'll have to excuse me if I'm not willing to drag my people out into the open for us to take a vote on the peace talk thing. We'll go inside and you can plead your case to my men."

"Can I leave a couple of my men out here?" Shumpert asked.

Reworking his plans, Rick nodded. "Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, giving Glenn the signal to start the countdown. They'd just have to double back quickly after the explosion and get the leftovers he supposed. Would be far better than missing out on a majority of them.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Merle****

**The Convent**

There was no point in trying to sleep.

He was lightly dozing when Milton came into the frat house looking for something, only half paying attention to whatever the nerd was droning on about, until Merle realized that if the little twerp was out of the infirmary it meant Daryl was either dead or recovering from the surgery.

So, giving it about a half hour before he moved from the warm, dry cot, Merle finally decided to pop over to see his brother, who was apparently still with them.

The rain had finally stopped. Something he noticed when the annoying pitter-patter of drops on the roof of the shed ended, and outside the world was still.

Moving across the lawns he spied Michonne on the wall, Grace at the gate and not a single sign of those who had gone to the mall, no trucks, nothing.

Making sure to make enough noise so that he didn't catch anyone unawares inside the infirmary, Merle moved across the open main room, heading for the bed where his brother was still unconscious, Carol reading a magazine at his bedside quietly.

"I hear he made it," Merle greeted gruffly.

"Well, he's out of surgery, but we'll need to keep a close eye on him for a few days," Carol replied, pushing to her feet. "Are you going to stay for a bit? I want to stretch my legs."

Seeing through her weak excuse to give him and his baby bro privacy, Merle scoffed. "Yeah, I'll stick around for a bit, don't be long."

On her way by the cheeky woman reached out and gripped Merle's arm just above his heavy duty prosthetic and squeezed warmly.

He watched her leave with a quirked brow, impressed at how little fear she seemed to have for him suddenly.

For a few minutes after the door closed behind Carol, Merle milled about by his brother's bedside, eyeing him quietly, before he plopped down on the chair at the side of it, hefting his boots and dropping them on the bed beside Daryl's knee, crossing them at the ankles casually.

He eyed his baby brother's pale face, studying the way Daryl's chest rose and fell with a little difficulty.

"Shit," Merle began softly, not wanting anyone to overhear him, "you had your woman pissing herself with worry, baby bro. Shouldn't pull that shit with her, you don't want to wind up like me, old and lonely." Merle scoffed. "Needing some kind of brown liquor in me," he trailed off with a sniff. "Hell, I'll take some of that prissy assed holy wine they have stashed away somewhere around here. Don't tell me they don't have that crap lying about like water."

Eyeing his brother's face, studying the lines that were suddenly developing in the areas around his eyes, the grey that was peppering his scruff, Merle realized that neither one of them were young anymore. He scoffed again.

"I hope to hell we don't become those old assholes who remember nothing, but lived through everything," he mused. "You and me, baby bro. You and me."

He could hear the frogs through the boarded up window and smiled. "Guess the Dixon clan includes that woman of yours now. Don't matter if you're hitched up properly or not. I like her though, she ain't half as annoying as most of the tits around here. That includes your pal Rick and his weed sprouts." Merle chuckled at his own humour. "I'll keep an out for her for you sometimes when you need it. Maybe someday you might have to do the same for a woman of mine," Merle laughed out right, finding it wasn't so funny when it was just you laughing.

"You remember when you were just a little snot-nosed fucker and you used to crawl into my bed when the old man was liquored up? I used to shove you out on your ass?" Merle smirked, "did that twice in a row some nights before you'd give it one more try, slipping under the covers like a cowering mutt. Third time was always the charm, wasn't it? You were so small then, just a little stick insect with a mop of hair that could never be combed back out of your eyes. Daddy used to threaten to shave you bald," Merle's grin faded, "he tried once. Don't know if you ever remember. I broke two of my fingers busting his nose, he whooped me so badly I couldn't even walk for two days. Laid up in bed, you would bring me a sandwich and a glass of water when you could, but daddy told you to leave me be, so you had to sneak them in. Just a pup and here you were making me sandwiches and taking care of your older brother. Then I left you behind first chance I got," he finished, feeling those sappy girl feelings tighten his chest. Before he could bawl like a little bitch, Merle pushed to his feet. "Fuck it. I'm going to tear this place apart for that wine."

Passing Carol on the way out of the infirmary, he hoped she didn't notice how weepy he was, moving quickly for the church, the first place he was planning on looking for the booze. First person who tried to stop him he planned on either fighting or fucking.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Tyreese****

**The Forest (In A Hole)**

The sun was beginning to rise in the east, he couldn't see it, but the skies were getting lighter, the forest becoming less like a spooky assed painting above their heads and more like something from a kids cartoon.

Half asleep after about an hour of leaping and scratching at the sides of their pit, Tyreese opened his eyes long enough to register the sound of something heavy thudding around the mouth of the pit.

Picking up his rifle, he stood up, eyeing Andrea who had passed out from the pain of her leg, he prepared to defend them from whatever was moving around up there.

Above him there was a rustling in the leaves of the forest floor.

Raising his rifle in the direction where it sounded like the rustling was coming from, Tyreese waited. His entire body tense.

"You're gonna shoot someone's eye out with that thing," someone growled from the opposite direction.

Tyreese whipped around and pointed his gun at a scruffy looking middle aged man who was peering down at him.

He wore a battered looking cowboy hat and jean jacket over a plaid shirt and a look on his face that was entirely unfazed by having a rifle aimed at him.

"Hey, Pace," the man grunted in an accent that was southern, but not at all from Georgia or the area anywhere nearby. It almost sounded Texan. "Looks like we caught us a couple of live ones."

Tyreese whipped around as the rustling of leaves came up from the mouth of the pit opposite of where his rifle was trained. He wasn't sure who to keep his weapon on, the grizzled looking old cowboy or the slightly younger looking cowboy who was just as grizzled and just as unimpressed by his gun.

"Put that gun down, son," the first cowboy said. "Ain't nobody made nice with a gun in their face."

"Except you and your first wife, Tucker," the other cowboy remarked. "As I recall that's why you married her."

The older cowboy chewed on a brown batch of tobacco idly, spitting on the ground beside him, before sniffing. "Well, get some rope, Pace. Don't just stand around like an asshole looking pretty."

"We don't want no trouble," Tyreese said. "Help us out and we'll just go back the way we came."

"Not making enemies here, son," the man said. "Hell, feel more comfortable if you did just head out on your own, but the boss always likes to meet and greet."

"Are you from Woodbury?" Tyreese demanded, suddenly unaware of maybe things didn't go so well for those at the mall.

The man – Tucker – chuckled. "Are you?"

"We keep clear of those idiots," the other man – Pace – replied, returning with some rope. "Weren't real friendly the first time around," he grunted as he heaved the rope down. "Kowalski put a round in the tailpipe of one of them from his perch, didn't hear a peep out of them since."

"That why you got yourselves a minefield?" Tyreese asked, assuming that since they weren't from Woodbury, they were the ones with the minefield.

"Boss man had extras kicking around," Tucker replied. "That your lady."

"She's one of ours, yeah."

The two cowboys hesitated, glancing at each other.

"There's more of you?"

"We aren't looking for trouble. Just had a bad night, want to get home is all."

Pace pushed his hat back and knelt down by the mouth of the pit, the cigarette dangling from his mouth ashing into the hole. "Your people know where you are?"

"They know we're in this general area," Tyreese replied, lying quite a bit because even he didn't know where they were.

The two men considered this for a moment, before Tucker sighed heavily.

"Well, we'd best get you out."

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Écouter** - To listen, to listen to.


	86. Malheureux

**raizingkain2001 - Holy hell! You say that too? Thought I was the only one! XD**

**LaurenEmilyxx - It's a hard decision, isn't it?**

**Supfan - Merle does need to get laid doesn't he?**

**DarylDixon'sLover - Okay!**

**Ms Q - Ehehehe, caught on huh? Yeah...kind of, but also it's a good place to 'splode things.**

**HGRHfan35 - Hehe, I love that you call him Hot Dog Daryl now! This pleases me. ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - LOL! Elmyra was the best, psycho bitch that she was...**

**itsi3 - Indeed, cowboys are delightful and Texan cowboys are pure heaven to me.**

**GG - I wish people could just get along, but let's face it human beings can be pretty big assholes to each other.**

**Surplus Imagination - I wouldn't think too hard on the tie in, some chapters don't even have a title that ties in with anything...sometimes I get lazy.**

**BanannaFlvdSnow - Hehe, enjoy the Deliverance inside joke in this chapter then.**

**Merle's Right Hand - Basic French. It saves lives.**

**crazstiz - Wonderful to hear! ^_^**

**Well kiddos, this is it. The final chapter. **

**I know, it came slamming up, but you had to figure it was on the horizon, huh? I want to thank all my reviewers, because you're all sweet and wonderful people and I'd like to thank those readers who read this story, favourited this story, hell favourited me as a writer (that was a shock, but pleasant). You people are seriously wonderful human beings and if there ever were a ZA, I'd want to be in your group because you cats really know where it's at.**

**Anyways, keep an eye out for the sequel to this story called Black Cat Bone. It will be out soon enough. ^_^**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty-Six: Malheureux**

****Glenn****

**The Highway**

It had all gone horribly wrong.

Things went smooth inside, as Rick gave them the signal and Beth and Sasha hightailed it for the back door while Glenn raced to the missiles, setting the timers and they continued to go swimmingly as he made it clear of the mall.

It wasn't until he emerged from the mall and made his dash for their trucks that he realized there were stragglers waiting beside the Governor's men's vehicle as they tore past to park in their rally point to wait for Rick.

Those at the truck had eyed them for a moment in shock, before one dropped his cigarette and raced for the mall.

Glenn had pulled the truck he was driving into a sharp right, running down the man, as the other two at the Governor's truck opened fire.

Behind him in their vehicle Sasha and Beth had returned the fire, too busy driving his own vehicle, he wasn't sure just what had happened at the time, but suddenly there was the sound of twisting metal and glass breaking and when he managed to get his truck turned around, he found Sasha pulling Beth out of their upturned truck, firing back at the last remaining armed gunman from the Woodbury group.

He pulled his truck to a stop, and had grabbed the semi-automatic rifle he had resting on the seat at his side and stepped out onto the running board, using the door for cover, to give Sasha and Beth some covering fire while they made a mad dash towards him.

That was when the mall went up in a ball of flames and hellfire.

Using the explosion as a distraction, Glenn marched out from behind the door to the truck boldly and headed straight for the remaining Woodbury survivor.

He had shot her without any hesitation, right in the face.

Now he was tearing down the highway in the truck, no Rick to be found, Beth and Sasha both in rough shape from their crash.

He wasn't sure if Rick was still in the mall when it blew or what, but they waited for as long as they could, Glenn screaming at the top of his lungs for Rick, driving around the burning mall, honking the horn, but Beth was in bad shape, her head bleeding, her ribs felt broken where she had slammed into the dash of the truck and Glenn finally made the call to leave the destroyed mall behind.

Fuck it was a mess.

"Did we get him?" Sasha asked. "Was the Governor in the mall at least?"

"I don't know, fuck!" Glenn slammed the steering wheel. "He wasn't at the Woodbury truck, but I don't know if we got him. Hell I don't know anything right now!"

They drove on in a tense, heavy silence, before Glenn snarled, "this was a dumb idea," he muttered, clenching the wheel tightly.

"No shit," Sasha agreed, cradling Beth in her arms.

It had all gone horribly wrong, horribly fast.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Mrs. Douglas****

**The Convent**

The window of the room she was sitting in was growing pink with the first light of dawn.

With her head bowed, dozing lightly, she was only faintly aware of the shifting on the cot at her side and looking up and over found the soldier trying sit up.

Placing a trembling hand on his chest, she gently kept him pinned in the cot.

"It's okay," she assured him. "You're safe."

He eyed her with sharp grey eyes, before clearing his throat. It rasped dryly, sending her to the bedside table for a glass of water she had placed there for him. Gently she eased onto the bed at his side, helping him take a drink of water in his near prone state.

Like a lost little boy he eyed the room and her, before grimacing.

"I'm home?" He asked with a voice that was still scratchy with sleep.

"You're back at the convent, yes." Mrs. Douglas smiled. "It's good to hear you speaking in a language I understand."

"I was speaking French?" He asked.

"Yes you were."

"That's a relief, because I don't know much Spanish, would have embarrassed myself with a string of '_dos tequilas por favor_'."

She chuckled. "I like you when you're all together."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"Barbara Douglas, I'm the one who patched you up, you can thank Noah for saving your life though. Boy made a hard decision, but he did good."

The soldier licked his bottom lip. "Who's Noah?"

"You'll meet him soon, I'm sure. You should rest now."

"Feel like I've been resting for a year," the Lieutenant replied. "Do you know if Daryl, uh…he's sort of scruffy, kind of—"

"He's fine. Came out of surgery, still out cold, but I have high hopes for him."

The soldier was quiet. She could see him struggling to process something, before he spoke. "I didn't think I'd see this place again," he confessed.

Feeling her heart clench at his tone, Barb reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently with a soft smile. "Then you should make the best of your return, shouldn't you?"

"I feel sort of dizzy," he explained. "Sick to my stomach."

"Well you lost quite a bit of blood, but now that you're with us if you tell me your blood type maybe I can find a donor, get you feeling right again."

"O positive," he replied. "There's a woman, she's a tiny little thing—"

"Your wife is on the wall, Lieutenant."

The soldier chuckled weakly. "My wife…yeah I'm sure she'll like that," he smiled. "Can you bring her here for me? I just…I just want to see her. I need to see her."

Giving the man's hand one last squeeze, Barb stood up. "Of course, sweetie. I'll try and find a donor for you while I'm out too."

"_Merci_," he muttered, flopping back weakly onto the pillow as the woman moved from the room.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Merle****

**The Convent**

He was tearing apart the root cellar looking for the stash of holy wine, grumbling about the amount of pickled carrots and beets the nuns had stashed away, but not a single sign of anything fortified, when she came across him, standing in the middle of a bunch of empty wooden crated grumbling to himself.

"What in the name of the good Lord are you doing?"

Merle glanced over his shoulder casually and found Grace standing on the bottom step eyeing him quietly with narrowed eyes.

"None of your business," he snapped.

"It is my business when you decide to tear apart my convent from the root cellar up, what are you looking for?"

"Wine and if you try and stop me I'll knock your front teeth out," he snarled.

She folded her arms and quirked a dark brow at him. "What did you just say to me, Mr. Dixon?"

"You heard me, woman, you're lucky I'm busy because I'm not in any fucking mood to be coddled by a dried up old harpy of a nun like you."

"Harpy?" She demanded. "You'd best choose a better pet name for me than that or I'll smack the rude right out of you."

He stopped short and turned on her. "You'd better watch your mouth around me," he growled. "I ain't in any mood."

"And you think I am?" She took a bold step towards him. "Your brother is fresh out of major surgery, the Lieutenant is lying limp in a cot, Rick and the others are off killing people and we need you to stay sober and clear headed."

Glowering at her, Merle reached out and punched the wall by her head hard enough to split his knuckles.

She jumped in shock, but kept eye contact with him, looking up at him as he towered a head taller than her.

"Are you going to knock my teeth out now?" She asked calmly. "Smack me around if you must, but it will only make you feel worse in the long run."

"You think I'm feeling pretty good right now?" He demanded. "Can't feel any worse, may as well drink and fight or fuck. Or all three, I call that a successful night."

"Merle," she began softly. "We need you."

"Ain't nobody needs me," he stated.

"Well, you're in for a shock then, because we do and I want you to step up for us because right now I'm terrified and I'm broken and I'm tired and I need you to take some of this burden on, because I'd feel a lot safer knowing you'd be able to protect us if we needed it. If Rick and the others don't return we will be devastated and weakened."

He eyed her, unsure whether he wanted to kiss her or kill her. Whatever was brewing in him was a passion of some kind, whether anger or lust, he wasn't sure.

"Now," she went on. "If you can remain calm and level headed until the others get back, I promise you I'll dig you up a bottle of wine from our stores, but only if you promise you'll calm down and allow the others to bask in your tranquil attitude so that you don't frighten them more than they need. Can you do that for me?"

He ground his teeth together.

"Promise me?"

Damn her big blue eyes.

Merle sighed. "Fine."

She smiled sweetly and clasped her hands together. "Thank you, Merle. I certainly feel safer already."

Taking a peek at her body, he wasn't dissatisfied with it. Sure her tits were small and she looked as delicate as a china doll, but she was fairly pretty for a middle aged woman.

"You know, since you're not a nun anymore—"

"I can sucker punch a man in his overly charming mouth without feeling guilty about it?"

He scowled at her as she brushed past him for the stairs. "You're lucky I like you," he growled. "Most people would get a beat down for that kind of smart mouth talk with me."

She paused at the bottom step and smiled sweetly. "You're lucky I like you too, Mr. Dixon, my brothers were very good test subjects for my wrath." She pointed to the mess he made. "Now clean all of this mess up, I'm not even close to kidding."

Glaring at her ankles as she disappeared up the steep steps into the kitchen, Merle sneered. "Fucking hard ass, better be good fucking wine."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Tyreese****

**The Woods**

Keeping his eye on the two men who were leading them, Tyreese allowed them to take him through the minefield, weaving this way and that like they had done it many times before.

Andrea was draped over the speckled black and white hip of the horse the one man had been riding, still out cold.

He certainly didn't like the situation, but he couldn't do much, Andrea was in no position to run and he didn't think he'd make it far even if he managed to raise his rifle before the one at his back got a shot off.

Resigned, he only hoped the place they were headed for wasn't anything like Woodbury or the roving gangs of thugs that had been moving through Georgia lately.

As they stopped swerving, they began passing by trees that were bearing corpses like they were rotting fruit, hanging heavily from their branches or strung up against the trunks.

Tyreese covered his mouth and nose from the smell and suddenly felt his stomach drop out from under him.

They were in for a hell of a run, he figured. Nobody he knew would be that fucked up.

Beside him and behind him the cowboys pulled up the handkerchiefs from around their necks and blocked out the smell that way, looking like an old west gang ready to rob a bank.

"Don't mind the smell," Tucker growled. "Keeps the mavericks away."

"Mavericks?"

"Them things, ugly bastards who used to be people," Pace replied. "They can't smell us past the smell of them. We sort of figured this out after Tucker here tacked a few up as a warning to the others, like coyotes on a fence."

Licking his bottom lip as they passed into a rough area of the woods, Tyreese spoke, "you boys aren't, ah…I mean I ain't gonna be made to squeal like a pig at some point, am I?"

Pace chuckled. "Well, you do have a _real purdy mouth_, but I ain't aiming for that kind of relationship with you."

"Hell, we just met you," Tucker added.

"Well, I have to say that's a load off my mind."

Pushing past even more dead walkers, Tyreese found the stench grew more and more unbearable, until suddenly they thrust through the thick of the woods and he found they were at the edge of a wide field of growing green spring grass and a small herd of brown cows being watched over by a single rider on horseback all contained by a rough split rail wooden fence that separated them from the cattle.

Tyreese eyed the rider, a woman from the shape of it, but they were far away and he couldn't tell for sure.

Beyond the fence, beyond the cows and the rider, was a Dutch style barn painted a soft cornflower blue, beyond that a yellow farmhouse.

As they walked the length of the fence, Tyreese eyed the area nervously. He knew they were heading for another group, but it was becoming very real to him that they could very likely be killed.

"Hey, Kowalski," Pace shouted up into a particular old pecan tree as they reached the gate and the driveway up into the farmyard, "got us a couple of live ones from the pits! Gonna let us pass or you wanna shoot them here?"

Tyreese glanced over at Tucker, but the man waved it off.

"Pace, that's a stupid assed thing to say, the man's already thinking we're going to cornhole him."

"But Kowalski will shoot them if they're here to mess with us," Pace replied, smacking Tyreese on the shoulder companionably. "But only if you're here to mess with us. Kowalski's never missed a shot."

Tyreese swallowed thickly and looked up into the tree. He couldn't see anything at first, but after staring up into the leaves for a while he finally spied the very edge of a wooden platform, but no man in sight.

"Kowalski's a vet, lost his hearing when an IED exploded too close to his transport over in Iraq, can't hear a goddamn thing," Tucker explained as they opened the gate. "But trust me, he knows we're here. Now if it was just you and the little lady here wandering up our drive you'd be stone dead, no hesitation."

"Real friendly of you all," Tyreese muttered.

"Can't afford to be friendly these days, come on, boss will be in the back this time of day cleaning kills."

As they walked some, two women emerged from the house, tea towels thrown over their shoulders.

"Ladies, you want to see that the doc gets a good look at this one?" Pace asked, easing Andrea off the horse gently. "Because I already have. Scrawny legs like a roadrunner, probably why they snap like green beans."

Tyreese eyed the dark haired cowboy, he seemed to have the worst kind of timing for the worst kind of humour.

"Who are these people?" The one woman asked. She was a pretty thing with curly auburn hair and honey brown eyes. "Shouldn't we leave them be?"

"Well, we would have, but we caught them in our trap fair and square, so I figured we'd bring them home for a trophy over the fireplace," Pace said as they entered the house, Andrea still in his arms. "Think it'd impress our dinner guests?"

"Good conversation pieces I'd say," Tucker added, spitting out a gob of tobacco juice.

"Fancy as a fucking cat with spats," Pace agreed, easing Andrea onto a bed in the upstairs.

Tyreese kept his eyes on everyone around him. He wasn't really getting an 'evil' vibe from any of them, but he sure as hell wasn't going to relax in their presence.

Straightening up, Pace reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one calmly. "Come on, pit bait, the boss will want to meet you."

"I'm already on your tail," a voice broke in.

Tyreese turned to find a tall, heavily muscled Latino man standing in the doorway, his hands covered in blood.

"Found these two in one of the pit traps," Tucker said. "Said they were lost, said their people are around there somewhere."

"Your people?" The man asked.

"We're not from Woodbury," Tyreese said, thinking that was probably something he should get out of the way first and foremost.

The man eyed him, before nodding. "Well, we can fix your dolly up, but you can't leave here until I meet with your leader. No offence, but I don't exactly trust people easily these days, but I'm always open to making friends."

Tyreese nodded. "I can't blame you. You have a name, man?"

"I'm Corporal Angel Delgado, USMC, or was I guess, until the world fell apart at the seams."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Carol****

**The Convent**

She watched from the infirmary with a small grin as the others returned from the mall, driving up in one truck.

As soon as it pulled to a stop though, and Sasha dragged Beth bleeding and broken from the cab, she felt her blood chill in her veins.

Where was Andrea? Or Alan or Tyreese or…

"Oh God," she whispered when Rick didn't appear from the truck.

Touching a hand to her stomach just under her breasts, she moved from the window, heading for the door.

In her box beside Daryl's bed, Judith began whimpering and Clyde stuck his nose inside the box to investigate the sound.

Carol paused halfway to the door and hurried to Judith, plucking her out of her makeshift crib to hold her, going back to the window to watch as Glenn broke the news to Carl.

She expected the boy to cry, to mourn in some way, but her heart broke when he simply nodded and walked off.

Holding Judith against her shoulder, Carol felt tears running down from her eyes.

This was bad. This was very bad.

As though sensing her mood, Judith began to squeal and wail and Carol forced herself to calm down, knowing a child was only as happy as the person holding it.

She moved across the infirmary to sit back down at Daryl's bedside.

Since he woke Clyde hadn't moved from the spot on the floor opposite her chair, standing up every now and then to nudge Daryl's hand with his snout, looking for a pet from him.

What were they without Rick? It seemed he was the glue that held everything together.

And Carl? The boy was already a shadow of his former self after his mother's death.

Things were going to be very different from now on, she figured. Without Rick there was no group, they could be together all they wanted, but it wouldn't be the same.

Holding Judith closely, she eyed Daryl on the cot as the others burst in with Beth, Herschel and Mrs. Douglas hovering over her.

As they worked on Beth in the bed at the far end of the room, Carol kept her eyes on Daryl, willing him to recover fast. They needed him now more than ever.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Malheureux** – Unhappy, unfortunate


End file.
